The Return
by UODaisy
Summary: Olivia gets a longawaited phone call and her life, and Alex's finally begin to move forward again.
1. On the Line

**THE RETURN**

**Chapter One: On the Line**

_Olivia_

"Shit!" I wake cursing, reaching for my gun and realizing I need to reach instead for the phone. I'm off for a week, and I know Elliot knows better than to call me at 1am during my vacation.

"Benson. And this better be really damn good."

"Liv?" My heart stops. It can't be. It can't be you. It just can't be.

"Liv? Are you there?"

I can only whisper in response, "is—is that really you?"

"Hi."

"Oh my god," I peel off the few covers that haven't already fallen on the floor during my troubled sleep. "It is you isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's me. I need to talk to you."

"But you're… where are you? Wait—never mind. No, _not_ never mind. How can you call me? You can't do this. How can you do this?" I struggle to shake the cobwebs from my brain. 3 days off the job and I'm already slowing down. "Isn't this dangerous?"

"No." You pause, and I can't find any words to fill the silence until you continue… "It's over Liv. He's gone. They killed him. The FEDs found his whole ring. Some random tip led right to him, and most of his associates. It's all over. I'm out of danger."

I still can't respond. I don't bother to wipe the tears from my cheeks. "Are you-- I mean, are you----?"

"---coming back? Yes--BUT--not for good Liv. Just… for a little while to finish up some of this Zapata/Valez business. Liv it won't be for long. But I didn't want you to just have it sprung on you. I didn't want you to find out like that. Hammond called Cragen and found out you were on vacation. He's still being ridiculous about this, Hammond I mean. I practically had to beg him to let me call you."

I can hear it in your voice. I can hear how hard this has been on you. I know because it's been hard on me too. We were finally getting started, really going somewhere, and then you had to play the hero. I told you, you should always leave that role to me. It's my job. No. That's not true. We weren't starting; we were seconds away from ending three years worth of off and on and off again. I shake my head, upset that I'm still lying to myself about you.

I've been quiet too long, the silence becomes pregnant, and awkward as we both think of all the things we wanted to say that night. All the things we wanted to say, but didn't.

"Olivia? Are you still there?"

The use of my full name jolts me from my memories. My eyes are wet, and my hand clenched tight. I hadn't realized how hard I was gripping the phone, overcome with the sound of you. "mmhmm… ahem Yes… I'm still here." I feel stupid, clearing my throat over the phone like some nervous teenager. "Ale—wait, can I? I mean. What do I.. um.. call you?"

It's been almost 2 years, but I can still see that expression on your face. I can see you debating between a serious answer and a smart one. "**You** can call me whatever you want. But usually in New York I go by Alex."

I almost laugh as you split the difference. You always did that. Not in court. In court you were decisive, confident, adamant. But with us, for the short period there was an us, you always played it safe.

"Alex." The weight of your name on my lips creates a spill of fresh tears, and I can't finish my thought.

"I know. Liv I know. Look, I have an appointment to get to, but I had to let you know. I wanted you to hear it from me first. And not from the guys, or Liz or Branch. I'm sorry Liv, I've really got to go. There's more paperwork coming **out** of this than there was going in. I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

I'm still speechless, and I struggle to find the right words as you prepare to hang up the phone.

"I'll see you in February Liv." You pause and I'm still trying to unstick my tongue when hear, "I love you."

click

"Alex."

"Alex?"

I can't believe you're gone again. I stare at the phone in my hand, willing you back on the line. I blink tears from my eyes, and sniffle, realizing that I probably look like a complete idiot. The sound of your voice has made me sweat, and I'm going to have to wash the pillow I've been clutching with my free hand. Soaked with sweat and tears I didn't notice until you were off the line, I almost can't stand to let go of it—as though it's you I'm holding, and not some soggy foam-filled substitute.

I sit for a few minutes, gripping the phone in one hand, and my pillow in the other. My gun lies on the bedside table where I left it when I finally fell asleep last night… no—this morning, only a few hours ago in fact. For the last year, almost two—well, ever since you left… I haven't slept well. Not that sleep was ever my thing, as you know, but even when I do sleep these days- it's fitful, full of painful dreams-most of them of my hands trying to push your blood back. Trying to bring you back. Full of flashing reds and blues, black SUV's and ugly Federal Agents. I usually shock awake, to the image of that scarf wrapping around my own neck, closing around me, choking me, catching in my mouth, clogging my tongue so I can't tell you all the things I need to say before they drive you away from me forever.

No. Not forever. Not anymore.

I step under the scalding hot shower and allow myself to think about that night again. For two years I've told myself that I didn't say it because Elliot was there. Because Hammond stood behind me, breathing down my neck—telling me what he expected of us. But the truth is that I didn't say it for the same reason I didn't say it in the days, and weeks before this all went down. Because when it comes to "I love you" I'm just a chickenshit. Before you climbed in… before they took you away from me, you looked at me. You dragged your eyes up to meet mine and you nodded. I know what you meant. I know you were telling me it was ok. That you knew I loved you. That it was all right that I couldn't say it.

But it's not all right. You were always better with words than I was. At least when it came to us.

"I love you." I say it to an empty shower, wishing desperately you were here to hear it, but knowing still that if you were, I wouldn't have the courage to speak the words.

_Alex_

I hate that my hand is shaking as I hang up the phone. I hate that I had to fight back tears as I talked to you. With all of the changes, new place, new job, new name, new life I guess I just assumed that the sound of you wouldn't affect me this way. I shouldn't have told you I had to beg Hammond to let me call you. Putting my foot in my mouth again. How do you do that to me? In court I'm so sure of myself. But around you I feel like a silly teenager, tripping over my own opinions, wanting desperately to make you happy, to keep the peace. Mostly just wanting to hear you say what I know you can't.

Hammond nearly killed me when I told him I wanted to call you. He couldn't understand why I felt so adamant about telling you myself that I was going to be back. I didn't want to tell him why and I called on all of my court experience to argue my case. We spent an hour arguing about it.

"Look, Elizabeth… this isn't a good idea. We still can't guarantee that Valez or Zapata don't have people out there just waiting. We're waiting until February to give the necessary people an opportunity to finish flushing out the lion's den. On the off chance someone is still listening…"

I hate that he's still using that name. Elizabeth Regis. Even though it's over he won't admit that I'm anything other than his 'ward'

"On the off chance someone is still listening, watching for me, then it makes perfect sense to tell Detective Benson I'm returning. She'll know to be careful, to watch for suspicious behavior. She's the best detective I know, in or out of New York, and it would be wise to give her a head's up." I choked back my tears as I spoke, trying not to let Hammond see how important it was to me.

"Regis—It's not happening. I'm not going to compromise this by letting some fancy New York detective have advance warning."

"Hammond—I'm not asking. I'm telling you. I'm _going_ to call Olivia Benson. I'm **going** to tell her I'm coming back, and I'm **_going_** to do it whether you want me to or not."

"You know it's not that simple. Your phone only works if I let it. And even though you've escaped your detail 3 times in the last 2 years, I assure you that they will be watching even more closely until the last of Valez's offices is cleared out at the end of the month."

He has stood from his perch on my sofa, and I turn away from him to face the large stone fireplace. I tried to gather my wits about me as he continued.

"I know she's you're friend _counselor_, but I can't take that risk just for a friend. She'll find out when everyone else does."

I laugh quietly at the world "counselor," his idea of empathy for my frustration. His only occasional reference to what I left behind. I give up on decorum, and strength, and calm.

"Detective Hammond, Olivia is more than my friend. And I am begging you to let me tell her. She has to hear it from me."

I don't know if it was the tone of my voice; the resignation, the disgust at begging—or if it was the look in my eyes when I finally turned to face him. I gave up on trying to hide my tears. I'm sure I looked every bit the doe you always accused me of being. You never could resist that look in my eyes.

Evidently neither could he. And although I know he, or some member of his "team" listened to our call, at least he left the room to give me the semblance of privacy. I'm sure they all wondered at my closing. I know how it sounded to me. I hope you heard. I hope you heard… and maybe- maybe you even said it back after I finally killed the line.


	2. Preparations

**Chapter Two: Preparations**

_Olivia_

When I got back to work everyone asked about my vacation. You'd think they'd have learned by now, but of course Elliot is ever optimistic that I'll actually go somewhere during my breaks. And George is ever the psychiatrist, hoping I'll give myself a break from my brain when I'm off duty. As for Munch and Fin… well they're just nosy, but you know that.

Normally I spend my off time thinking about us, re-examining my regrets, practicing all the things I wish I'd said. I beat myself up for letting them just take you away from me. But that was when I thought it was forever, when I thought you wouldn't be back. And while I did that… quite a bit; I also spent a lot of time preparing for your return. Everywhere I looked I saw things you wouldn't like… things that would have gotten me –the look. And yes, I still practiced all the things I wish I'd said. Only now I'm practicing for when I say them. Because this time I won't let it end the same way. I won't let you go without saying a few things first. Things I've needed to say… things you've needed to hear.

"Liv! Let's go—we've got a call!"

Elliot's voice pulls me away, and I grab my jacket as I rush out the door, my free hand on the butt of my gun. Deep in the back of my mind the thought of your return pushes a smile to my lips.

-----

I open the door to my apartment with a sigh of relief. Today's case was hard. Harder than usual. I find myself wishing, as I have often in the last week, that you were here already. My apartment, really clean for the first time in months looks empty without you here. Not that piles of clothes, and unopened liquor bottles were good company, but at least it looked like I wasn't just rattling around alone. I threw out the liquor before I bothered with the clothes. I know you wouldn't approve, despite the fact that they were all unopened. And I don't want to have to explain either.

I don't want to explain that every time I felt your absence-- that every time my craving for you made me ache-- I bought another bottle. I don't want to explain that I never opened them. Not one. I don't want to explain going to Maloney's and watching the guys drink while I sipped on water and stared at the bottles on the wall. I don't want to explain that those full bottles lining my kitchen counters replaced you for a while. Because before you they were all I had. And even though I swore I'd never touch alcohol again, I can't resist buying those tall clear bottles, or the short brown ones. I can't explain the 40s in the fridge that I'll never open because I never bothered to replace the bottle opener you threw through the window before you left.

And I don't want to admit that even though you're coming back it was hard to throw out those bottles. There's something comforting about the weight of a vodka bottle in my hand. Something comforting about the cool slickness of the glass between my fingers, and something equally comforting about the fact that every seal on every bottle is intact. But I don't want to try and explain that to you. I don't want your first view of this place to initiate a fight. Especially one so futile. I swore I'd stop drinking and I did. You're coming back. I don't need my bottles anymore. Soon I'll have you instead.

Sometimes I forget it's not forever, nothing is… not even this return—you said so yourself. And there's no guarantee about us. If there is an us. If there could even **be** an us. But just in case, my apartment is clean, my life is clean, I'm clean. Waiting. Preparing for you.

_Alex_

I know what you did after we hung up last week. I can see you sweeping out your apartment… making things ready. I wonder if there will be a window to fix. Will there be bottles to throw away? A new bottle opener to get rid of? You swore you'd stop but I know how hard this has been for you. I wouldn't blame you if you slipped a few times. I wouldn't like it. But I wouldn't blame you. I'm the queen of moderation and even **I** almost drank myself away a few times in these last 2 years.

I wonder if you repainted. I wonder if I'll walk in to those blue walls that you fought against so hard. I wonder if your bedroom is still purple. "Pale Indigo" you called it. I didn't push that the paint can said 'lilac' when I bought it. I'll never forget the look on your face when you saw it. I thought you were going to kill me at first. Lilac walls with violet and blue India-inspired bedding. Complementary reds and blues draped your bedroom window, and the room glowed with a gentle warmth.

"You and your damn doe eyes," you said, feigning disgust.

"What do I and my damn doe eyes have to do with your new bedroom?"

"You tricked me. With that… that look! That damn doe-eyed look you get. The one I can't manage to say no to!"

"What look?" I try for innocent and cherubic…

"THAT LOOK!" You glower at me for only a second before your hormones take over. As usual. "Oh forget it. Well Counselor? Shall we give the room a fair trial before we throw out the verdict?" Topping it off with a wink, you give me a look that **I** can't resist.

I laugh, thinking of your face when you wake up in your new room for the first time. I can't help but giggle, even now, at the confusion that crosses your deep brown eyes as you take it all in again. For a minute, I thought you were actually going to get angry. Instead, you sink back into the bed and reach for me. As usual, I let you.

Would we have continued that way forever, if I hadn't decided to play super-hero? **Could** we have continued that way? Could I really have stayed around, getting my heart involved, my soul involved, with someone who couldn't say the three words I needed most? I know you meant them. I know you felt them. But I don't know if that would have been enough.

Will it be enough when I return? Will it matter? Just in case—I start making my own preparations. First things first, I need new glasses. And some new clothes. Elizabeth Regis does **not** know how to dress.

But Alexandra Cabot does.

-----

I feel much better with some new clothes, and my glasses should be in by the time I leave. This may be a small town in comparison to New York, but it's better than some of the stops we had along the way. And at least they had a little variety to choose from. I thought about taking in my old pair, having new lenses put in. But I decided to surprise you instead. My new clothes are a mix. You'll be surprised to see I've become addicted to jeans. You always teased that I didn't know how to dress down, but sometimes I think I'll never remember how to dress up! I bought some new suits, but mostly for the jackets. I think that's your fault though. You and your layered look. And those damn leather jackets! You must have at least ten of them. Different colors, different lengths. You'll be shocked to see the two I bought while I was here. Both hip-length. Great over my new jeans. The first one I bought because it reminded me of you. I saw it in a store window in downtown Salem. That gorgeous brown that matches your eyes. The one that always made me melt into you. I saw its twin and couldn't resist. The $350 price tag was worth it. I slept with that coat for weeks before I actually decided to put it on. It draped over my extra pillow at night, and over the back of my extra dining table chair when I was home for dinner.

Hammond came by to discuss something one night and followed me into the bedroom where I was working. He saw the jacket wrapped around the pillow and gave me his version of –the look. Only his was more of a "you have **got** to be crazy" sort of thing. I decided it probably wasn't healthy to be sleeping with a coat you've never even worn, so I started wearing it instead.

I can't help but smirk, thinking about what you'll say about the new me. I start to put away my new things and continue with the rest of my preparations. I want to be ready for you. I imagine your eyes in my mind, trying to get ready for their deep chocolate so that I don't get totally lost in them when I see you. I want to have my wits about me when you finally get me alone.


	3. The Case

**Chapter Three: The Case**

_Olivia_

"Goddammit!" I slam the phone back in the cradle and look across my desk at Elliot. "Guess what? We lost her. Novak just called to say our vic has decided NOT to press charges."

"She what?"

"She decided not to press charges. And our message from Novak is… 'change her mind Detectives. That's not a question. I don't care how you do it, but make it happen. No vic, no crime, no trial. Figure it out!'" Wench. The longer she's here the less I like her. If he knew about us, Elliot would say I'm biased. Since he doesn't he just shakes his head.

"Make it happen huh? So now we're in the habit of forcing victims to prosecute?" Elliot looks disgusted. And tired. Did they tell you Kathy left him? Took the kids? What **do **they tell you about us… anything? I don't think he's sleeping well, if at all. I can finally understand how everyone knew things weren't right with me after you left. Looking at Elliot its easy to see he's fighting a losing battle, and I'm sure as much as I pride myself on being closed off, my pain was as obvious as his is. Elliot picks up his phone and badge and stands, stretching, from his desk. "Let's go talk to the vic."

-----

This case has really been ripping me up. I wish you were here already. I've missed having you to hash these things out with. You always knew when I needed to just run my mouth about a case. Girl gets raped; targeted because the guy and his friends saw her out with her girlfriend. Yup, her girlfriend. The perps decided to try and "convert her" to the joys of "real sex." You'd have a field day with these three geniuses. Casey's trying to tack on a charge of hate crimes, but she can't seem to make it stick. You would have.

You know I popped one of them in the interrogation room? Misogynistic bastard. Sat there, sneering at me, smirking, looking me over. Asked me how I liked it. If I'd been "converted." At first I thought maybe he knew… maybe he could see—until he said almost the same thing to Elliot later—asking if he'd been converted to the joys of "real sex, you know… with a woman." He was a hateful little shit.

The ringleader, not more than 20 years old but he had such a foulness in him: when he punctuated one particularly snotty sentence with, "Wouldn't you like to know dyke?" I lost it and right-hooked him. If it was your case to try, you would have killed me. I think Casey wanted to. Elliot jumped back into the room and separated me from the perp with this look on his face. You know the one. That, "what the fuck do you think you're doing" look. I was lucky not to get suspended, Novak certainly was pushing for it.

I couldn't help it Alex. You'd understand. You'd have been pissed, but if you'd seen the look on that kid's face, heard the tone of his voice. I felt like he was threatening me, threatening you… threatening us. And I know he couldn't possibly know but all I could hear was what he'd do if he did. If I hadn't clocked him, I would have thrown up.

My confrontation with Elliot was not pleasant. As wrapped up as he is in Kathy's leaving, he still saw that something was different about this. He asked. Asked about me, about my life. And this time… I didn't lie.

"What the hell happened in there Liv?"

"Drop it, Elliot… things got out of control, I lost my temper. Leave it."

"No. **Hell** no. Get your coat, Cragen's giving us two hours to calm down. Or rather, he's giving **you** two hours to calm down before we go talk to the vic. We're getting lunch. Let's go."

At the restaurant we both picked at our food. Since Kathy left, he's lost weight, and I can tell he's been following my diet of choice for the last two years. Order food. Push food around. Pay bill. It doesn't take him long to ignore his food altogether, choosing instead to focus on me.

"So talk to me Liv. I've seen you take cases personally before but this is getting out of control. What's going on?"

"Elliot I told you to drop it."

"Olivia, I'm your partner. If something is affecting the job, I have a right to know."

"You know El, that street goes both ways. So _partner_ what's the word from Kathy? Any news?"

It's a low blow and I know it. Elliot's eyes go fiery, and then hard. "That's not what we're discussing Liv and you know it. Stop trying to change the subject. I want to know what the hell has you so out of joint about this case."

I shove the lettuce around on my plate, start dismantling my sandwich in that way that always made you crazy. Taking out the onions, rearranging the pickles. When I look up, Elliot is waiting… his eyes softer now. Like you, he knows me too well. He knows if he waits long enough I'll spill. He's right.

"It's the crime. The vic."

"Liv, we see this crime every day. And vics just like her every day. What's the difference?"

"She's gay."

"So, we've had cases of gays being raped before?"

"Not women." I see his eyes flash as he thinks. He knows I'm right, and I wonder if he can see where I'm going with this.

"You're right. We've never had a case with a gay woman before."

I whisper in correction, "a lesbian."

Elliot looks at me, watches me play with my sandwich. Neither of us has taken a bite. "So that's it then? You're upset because we've got something new. That doesn't explain your reaction in the gray room Benson. What's really going on here?"

_Alex_

It's been hard, focusing on work this week. I keep having to remind myself that double-life or no, I still have a job to do. Or rather, **Elizabeth Regis** still has a job to do. I can't stand this petty corporate consultation crap. Two years of helping "executives" dodge legal battles disgusts me. Especially when I think about how I used to actually help people. How I used to actually put people away. Because of me, and some very good detectives, women… and men, saw justice. I don't even get to fight the cases here. I just put together the files, recommend arguments, come up with defense strategies. I help sleazy corporate types get away with petty crimes in order to save their reputations.

As nervous as the idea of the coming trials in the Valez/Zapata ordeal makes me, I'll be glad to be back in the real world of law. Where the bad guys are really bad and get punished accordingly. Where I get to actually stand in a courtroom and fight. It's not the recognition I miss. You never believed me but I always hated having cameras shoved in my face after a trial. But I miss standing in front of a judge, in front of a jury. I miss the look on the guy's face when I present that final, niggling piece of evidence that just nails him. I can tell at exactly what moment I've won the jury over. I can tell exactly when the judge is on my side. I know the exact word that's won them over.

You always said you can tell too. You say I get this look. Something about the way my glasses fall on my nose. "The glasses of justice!" That's what you always call them. Not in public. Not in front of other people. But in your apartment… in my loft. Usually in the middle of pulling them off my face, with one hand reaching behind me to pull me closer to you. I miss that. The way your hand feels in the small of my back. The way your fingers pulling at my glasses could electrify me.

knock, knock

"Elizabeth?" My door swings open to reveal my boss. My Oregon boss. Even after two years I still expect to see Branch's head popping through the crack in my door. "Elizabeth, do you have a minute? We have a … situation with Reynolds. Looks like his charges have just gone criminal. And not in a white-collar sort of way."

Finally something that sounds familiar. Even though my stomach turns at the thought of defending Reynolds in any way (he's a complete louse… I'm sure whatever the charge is it'll involve a sexual assault of some kind), I'm relieved at the potential to return to my natural environment… even if it's not in a courtroom. As much as I hate this job, at least it fills my time. I'm exhausted from rehashing all of our mistakes. I'm tired of reliving those moments. And there's still time before we get to start over. I have to find some way to keep occupied.

So I grab my briefcase and head to Reynolds corner office. Time to work.

_Olivia_

"You know it's been awhile. Since I've… Jesus Elliot do we really have to do this?" I've put off this discussion for more than three years. More like three and a half. Or is it four already? Ever since you and I started this thing.

"Liv, whatever's going on is showing up in your work and I want to know why. I deserve to know why." He stops but I can tell he's not finished. "Look, this thing with Kathy. It's—too close. Too new. I'll talk about it. You know I will. Just, not yet."

"So what makes you think this is any different? How do you know I'm ready, when you're not?"

"Because I know you Liv. And ever since Cabot left you've been……" Elliot trails off, and I can see his eyes sparking. "Cabot."

"Elliot. Elliot wait! Before you jump to conclusions…"

"Cabot? Are you serious? The ice queen? I thought she was with Langan."

"It's not like that Elliot. I mean, we're not like that, she's not… dammit." I'm frustrated, finding myself tongue-tied even with him. I get why it's hard to talk to you about our relationship, but I thought I could at least find the words to explain it to Elliot.

"Then what is it like Benson? Is that why you're so worked up about this case? It is isn't it? This guy got under your skin, got personal."

I don't bother to respond. I'm too far in it to feign innocence. All I can do is nod. And tell him everything.

_Alex_

God what a sleaze. Reynolds is now under official investigation for rape. Which means my obligation to defend his sexual harassment claims is now moot… in the hands of an "actual lawyer." And as much as my boss's reminder that I am _not_ an actual lawyer stings, I'm glad to wash my hands of Reynolds. I'll be glad to wash my hands of all of this someday. I wonder if they'll let me come back to my office. Back to real trials, and real criminals. Back to you. For good I mean.

I wonder what you're working on. I know you've been back to work this week. There's never an off moment when you're on. I pick up the New York paper at the newsstand every day. Or rather, Hammond picks it up for me. Control freak. I thought maybe that the longer I had to be around him he might soften. But as it turns out he's exactly what you expected of him. I wish they'd found someone else to cover my personal detail… but Hammond insisted on doing it himself. Ugh. The newspaper was one of his few concessions, although he insists on picking it up for me, just in case anyone was watching to see the now redheaded, contact wearing former ADA buy a New York paper and make a connection. I tried to convince him that a legal consultant for an Oregon-based **national** company wouldn't raise any eyebrows with a New York Post at the stand but he wouldn't take no for an answer. If I have to admit it, I'd say he actually reminds me a bit of you that way. Although with you I always had –the look– to fall back on. Hammond's not quite as susceptible to doe eyes, and I almost hate to use it on anyone but you.

Papers never mention the investigators. I read about rape cases and victims in smudged black print, hoping for a glimpse inside my favorite bullpen. Novak made the papers last year, the Billy Tripley case. But I think that was more about the sensational nature of his crimes. Too Michael Jackson-esque to stay under wraps. I'm sure you had a hand in it, even though I know it turned your stomach just looking at Tripley. Everyone knows that cases with kids always make Elliot sensitive, but only I know what it does to you.

The thought of Elliot makes me wonder about other things. Two years is a long time, especially when you expect it to be forever. Did you tell him about us? Did you explain your reaction to my leaving? Did you explain the things we didn't say with Hammond breathing down your neck? Did you tell him about those days, those weeks, those months before it happened? Did you tell him about our fights… about the horrible things we said to each other? About how angry I was at you that night. About how I wouldn't go home with you because I was upset by your reticence about certain things. I wouldn't blame you. There are so many times I wish I had someone to tell about you. Not that talking to someone else would change the things I said to you before that night. But the closer I get to seeing you again, the more I wish I had someone to ask for advice. Someone to tell me I was making the right decision, or even the wrong one.

I hope you told him about us. Somehow, it's important to me that you're not waiting for me all alone.


	4. Confessions

**Chapter Four: Confessions**

_Olivia_

I don't pay attention to what I'm saying. I just let the words fall from my lips… baptizing Elliot with our relationship. It's as if I've been waiting for this moment to speak it all aloud. As if his questions were the permission I've been waiting for. I still trip over my tongue, still have to struggle to describe the way I feel, but despite it all everything spills out.

"When did this start?" Elliot's new questions are quiet, mindful of our luncheon spot. He doesn't want to embarrass me in a restaurant frequented mostly by cops, cops we know.

"I don't know, El. Maybe it never really started, it just always kind of… was."

"Ok then, my real question is… well. I mean there was Brian, and that reporter. I know you don't date **much** but I always thought…"

"My choices were always more about proving something to myself than anything I guess. I dated a few women in college. But once I decided to join the force, I knew it would be wise to put those things behind me. Cassidy was just the first in a line of mistakes. That damn reporter was another. Bastard almost got me canned, reading that stupid file. Seems like my life is built on mistakes. Rebecca was a mistake of a different kind."

"Rebecca? Rebecca… Rebecca Hendrix? The cop turned Doc? What does she have to do with-- oh."

"It wasn't like that. I mean it could have been. We were at the academy together, and somehow she found out, about me. That I was… gay. She asked me out, and I went. She tried to kiss me goodnight and I didn't just turn away. I slapped her. I was horrified at the idea of anyone finding out."

"Well, that certainly explains a few things. But how does Cabot fit into all of this?"

"Alex changed things for me. I wasn't ready to shout it from the rooftops, but I wasn't as frightened of myself anymore. She made it ok. Not easy—but ok." I can't help but smirk. Things with you were never easy. Always a lawyer.

"But when? When did this start? That night we interrupted her date… was it a date.. with Langan?" Elliot starts to blush. I can tell that even though he's my friend, he's embarrassed by all of this. Unsure of how to react.

"No. I don't know when it started. The first time I saw her?" I can still see that spark in your eyes at our first meeting. That electric blue. Your fire excited me. And even though you couldn't manage to keep from pissing me off at regular intervals, I just couldn't get enough of those eyes. "There was just something in her that sparked me. It took a long time for us… for me, to find the courage to ask her out." I stop to think. "No, that's not right… she asked." The memory of you tripping over your words makes me smile, "She asked me out first. She was so nervous. So was I. Nervous, but relieved. Because at least that way I knew without having to put my ass on the line."

I look at Elliot, waiting for him to insert his judgments, his opinions, his disapproval. "You fell for her." There's no hint of recrimination in his voice. Just concern.

"Yeah. I fell for her. Hard. When I joined the force I convinced myself I wasn't gay. That I was just like everybody else. I worked hard to keep up that image, not just to my fellow cops, but to myself. And then Alex came along, and in her own way she was so open." I can see Elliot raising his eyebrows when I call you open. "No, I know. 'ice-queen.' But Elliot, how many times have you seen Alex out with a man? Besides that thing with Langan I mean? Which **wasn't** a date by the way."

"All-right point taken. But Liv, we don't see her everyday. It's not like we have occasion to interrupt her private life all that often. Not like the job interrupts ours."

"She has never claimed or pretended to like men. And I'm sure if anyone had asked she would have dodged the question beautifully, without lying. Unlike me who just did everything I could to make it look like I was straight. But you know how rumor flies around here. Don't you think you'd have heard about a relationship by now if she was dating some guy?"

"Well I hadn't heard about you two, and I'm pretty damn close to the action."

I shoot Elliot a nasty look, but I know he has a point too.

"We were discreet."

"Discreet? Olivia, you were damn near non-existent. How did she do it? You're my partner, and my friend and half the time I don't know what's going on in your life… did you talk to her more than you do to me? She doesn't seem the type to be happy with a don't ask, don't tell kind of relationship."

You weren't. I remember our first fight. The night I showed up at your apartment, after my mom, after the funeral… I couldn't talk. You opened the door and I leaned in for the kiss I'd been avoiding ever since we'd starting having "dinner". I put my hand in the small of your back and pulled you toward me, desperate to wipe away the tears I hadn't allowed to fall. You resisted, trying to pull away from me as I pressed my lips to yours with determination, hard.

"Olivia." I felt you speak my name against my mouth. You pulled your head away, turning so my forehead rested, tilted against your cheek. "Olivia, don't. Not like this. Talk to me."

"Alex."

"Talk to me."

I tried to kiss you again, took your chin with my left hand, my right hand still in the small of your back, pressing you to me. You swat my hand away, peel yourself away from me. I can't meet your eyes as you examine me. I feel like a perp in the witness seat.

"Talk to me!"

I can't. I can't. I can't. " I CAN'T!"

"Liv---"

"Alex, I just can't. I'm not… I don't do…"

"What, relationships? Liv we can't just pretend your feelings don't exist. You can't just pretend she didn't die. I'm not the only one in this relationship. I realize it hasn't been that long. I know this all new to you, it is to me too. But if you want to give this a real shot, you have to Talk. To. Me."

Your turn… you take my chin, tilt it towards those incredible blue eyes. And I want to. I want to tell you. I want to tell you what she meant to me. What her sacrifices meant to me. I want to tell you about when she told me. About how she got drunk and angry and told me she'd been raped, about how I was some perp's little mistake. I want to tell you about how proud she looked when I told her about SVU. I want to tell you about that ball of fire in my chest… that pain I can't quite put my finger on. The one that's bubbling just under the surface. I want to loose the barrage of tears I've been choking back all day. Instead I get angry.

This time I swat away _your_ hand. I know my eyes are flashing, I replace my sorrow with anger and turn to leave. "Forget it Alex. If you're going to be uptight about it, I'll just go. There are plenty of other options in this city." I spun away from you, slamming your door behind me.

_Alex_

One week. Just one more week. I finished my work early on Friday, passing on my files and suggestions to Caleb, the actual attorney. I turned off my work-based cell phone, and make it clear that I'm not interested in hearing updates on Reynolds's legal status. I'm taking this last week to do some personal review. There's a lot to think about now. A lot to consider. Hammond has made it clear that I have more than one option.

I was upset at his constant referrals to the "temporary nature of this return, Miss Regis."

"Detective Hammond, I **understand** that this current visit isn't forever. But surely now that the cartel is pretty much shut down I don't have to come back _here_ forever either. I can begin to reclaim my life can I not? Or am I stuck here until you say so?"

"Elizabeth, look, there are… other options. But surely you recognize the severity of your decisions…" I'm not listening to the rest of his diatribe. I'm stuck on that sentence… "there are other options…" You said that to me once. In anger. Your chocolate brown eyes flashing with fire. I wonder if you even remember that night. I heard around the office that Elliot found you at Maloney's, drunk out of your mind. Do you remember coming to my door after the funeral? Do you remember what you said to me? When I refused? When I tried to get you to talk?

"_Forget it Alex. If you're going to be uptight about it, I'll just go. There are plenty of other options in this city." _

It stung. Even way back then, when we were just getting started, the idea that you had "other options" ready and waiting. That was the first time you kissed me. That night after your mom's funeral. I was so angry at you. Frustrated because you wouldn't talk to me. But I kept having to try and stop the knocking in my knees. I pushed you away, trying to … I don't know—threaten you into talking. But oh god I could have stayed in your arms forever. Your hand cupping my chin, drawing me in. I had to force myself to turn away from you, to pull away. I know you would have regretted it if I'd let you start that way. If I'd melted into you the way I wanted to, neither of us would have been content to start our relationship that way.

I'd been trying to kiss you for weeks. Starting to lean in at the end of the night, finding your hand stuck out for a shake. Or, more recently, feeling your arms around me in a friendly embrace. I was frustrated, and feeling romantically stunted. I know you were attracted to me. You couldn't hide that flick of your eyelids, the way you looked at me… head to toe and back again. I was surprised the whole squad hadn't figured it out. Or maybe I only noticed because I saw you the same way.

And then that night you showed up. I heard you knock on my door and my heart stopped. I knew it was you before I even got up from the table. My body warmed at the thought of you, and I was desperate to be the perfect confidant for you. I was thrilled that you'd finally decided to talk about it. I know how hard this has been for you. The tears that fell from your eyes when they notified you. I've been watching the bags under your eyes get darker, and deeper. You look like you've aged years in this week.

I'm right.

_You're standing on the other side of my door, your eyes dry but sunken. You have an unrecognizable look in your eyes, and you lean into me, drawing your right hand into the small of my back, pulling my into your curves, pressing your lips to mine. For a minute I'm lost in this moment. Lost in your kiss. I let your tongue play on my lips for a second before I figure out what's going on._

"_Olivia." I can feel my own breath come back to me, relayed by the proximity of your lips. I turn my head, leaving your forehead resting against my cheek. "Olivia, don't. Not like this. Talk to me." I don't want to do this. I don't want to make our first time an eraser. I don't want to be a forget-fuck. _

I watched your anger rise. Watched it form into a fiery ball in your eyes as I tried to draw you out. "Talk to me!"

Your pause is too long… I know I'm losing you.

---"I CAN'T"---

"Liv---"

"Alex, I just can't. I'm not… I don't do…"

"What, relationships? Liv we can't just pretend your feelings don't exist. You can't just pretend she didn't die. I'm not the only one in this relationship. I realize it hasn't been that long. I know this all new to you, it is to me too. But if you want to give this a real shot, you have to Talk. To. Me."

I grabbed your chin, pulled your face up, making you meet my eyes. Their normally gentle chocolate brown is replaced with a furious spark. You swipe my hand away, and spin. _"Forget it Alex. If you're going to be uptight about it, I'll just go. There are plenty of other options in this city." _

Even now, years later… I feel tears well up at the memory of you slamming my own door behind you, running to drown yourself the only way you know how.

How did we do it? How did we come back from that? Over and over again. How did I let you get so deep inside me, knowing you'd never be able to talk to me the way I needed you to… the way I know **you** needed to.


	5. Firsts

**Chapter Five: Firsts**

_Olivia_

Elliot shakes his head, letting me get it out, talking about that night, our fight. Our first. Everything with you was a first… well almost everything.

"The night of your mom's funeral? Isn't that the night…"

"Yeah." I still feel ashamed, remembering Elliot's face swimming through my beer-vision at the bar. "The night you had to get me at Maloney's. Look, El, I never…"

"No thanks necessary. At least now it makes a little more sense. You know you mumble when you're drunk? You kept talking about some 'her'; 'kissing her,' 'holding her,' I assumed you were talking about your mom, but it was still weird. Makes a little more sense now."

I can feel a blush rising on my cheeks, wondering what the hell I really said, and knowing Elliot's too good a friend to ever tell me. Even in the crowded restaurant, I can't help but let a few quiet tears find their way down my cheek. It's so good to finally come clean. He's the first person I've ever told about you. He's the first person _besides_ you that I've told about anything. I never even told my mom about my… proclivities. She witnessed a few of my college trysts, but we never talked about it. She looked so relieved the first time I told her about Cassidy. Even though I refused to date him, she looked relieved to hear that I was normal. So much of my life was abnormal already, I know how she would have struggled with the idea of making a life with someone like Alex.

I look up, fiercely wiping tears from my cheek. Now Elliot is blushing again, looking uncomfortable as he poses his next question. "So, when did you… you know. Um. I mean, clearly she took you back. So when did it get –serious?"

"We didn't speak for awhile. Not outside of work. I couldn't find the words. Couldn't apologize. Couldn't do what she wanted me to… I couldn't loosen up my tongue enough to even say I was sorry. I caught the look in her eyes when I told her I had 'other options' Elliot. I was afraid she wouldn't forgive me.

"But then we had that case. You remember the Austin case?"

"The one with the kid… Ashley right, the one that got attached to you?"

"Yeah. I stopped by Alex's office one night, asking her not to abandon the case. She sat across from me and asked me why I wouldn't let it go. Why I _couldn't_ let it go, even when Ricki tried to get me fired. I told her I couldn't let that kid stay there. Couldn't just pitch her aside the way everybody else had. Because I knew. Because I knew what it meant to have your mom ignore you, pretend you didn't exist. For the first fifteen years of my life my mom shut me out. When I was nine I broke this vase. Huge, hand-thrown porcelain vase. Irreplaceable. She was drunk when she got home, and so angry. She saw me trying to glue it back together, started screaming at me. Calling me a bastard. A stupid, rape-created bastard. 'Cause you know, that's all your daddy was _Livvy_, just some hateful, grotesque rapist."

I remember telling you about that night. About how she almost hit me, but not quite. About the way she said my name… _Livvy_, in a tone I'd never heard before. Full of rage and disgust and self-loathing… full of regret. You took my hand, covered it with yours, I felt you stroking my thumb, calming me. That kid, with her curly blond hair, that desperate, lonely look in her eyes. I saw myself in her and I couldn't let it go. You could have fought me for it. You could have demanded I drop the case, hand it off. But you didn't. You moved, sat on the couch with me, wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into you. It was the first real touch since our fight. I thought I was going to drown in your scent. And I didn't think drowning would be all that bad. With your arms wrapped around my shoulders you whispered to me as I crouched in the hollows of you, letting you envelope me.

"It wasn't your fault Liv. Your mom, this kid… none of it's your fault. I trust you. I trust your instinct. If you think she needs help, we'll find a way. Let's talk to Don. We'll find a way."

Elliot looks at his uneaten lunch, "you never told me that. About your mom."

"I never told anyone about it. Alex… Alex was different. Don't think I suddenly did a 360 and started confessing all my secrets. Most of our fights centered on my reluctance to discuss my life, and my feelings. Especially my feelings for her. I'm so used to keeping everything to myself, used to having to hide everything. But I can't hide this anymore El. Not now." I don't tell him what the rest of our fights are about. He's already too familiar with my drinking, and its consequences.

Elliot's eyes cloud with confusion, and his head tilts in his unspoken question.

I look around the restaurant, down at our untouched food. Elliot waves his hand for the check and following my lead, walks out of the restaurant and back to the sedan.

"She's coming back."

_Alex_

I can't help feeling like this week is dragging. I woke early this morning, reaching to _your_ side of the bed, which is silly since you've never slept here with me. Not in this bed. Not in this room. I wonder what you'd think of this place. You'd probably try to paint the walls. I'd hate to see what color. You always had a spiteful streak in you. They'd probably end up lime green. I chuckle at the thought of you painting my home.

**Not** my home. It's strange how comfortable I've been able to get here. Every day I wake up and wish I was back in my loft, or back in your apartment. Even back in that huge, overpriced castle my mother calls home. But still, the word home doesn't stumble out of my lips the way it used to here. I miss the city, but Oregon's statewide, small-town feeling has been a nice change. Even in the busiest part of Portland's metropolis, people greet you as if they've known you forever. Shopkeepers are kind, clerks friendly. If you've shopped somewhere twice, or three times, they already know you on sight. In New York, you're lucky if your tailor of twelve years remembers your last name. When the program moved me into this huge house on the border of Salem, I couldn't understand how anyone could call this city the Capital of anything. Portland seemed much more appropriate to me. But I've become attached nonetheless. Still I plan to go back to New York, try and pick up my life. Because regardless of how much I like it here, I'll always come back to you. Not just because I need you. Because I know you need me. Even if you're never able to admit it.

You almost did once. The Austin case, 2001. Almost exactly 4 years ago. Wow. You showed up in my office, sat on the sofa and asked me not to abandon the file. I had to know why you were willing to risk your job for that case. To risk your job for one kid, a kid that everyone suspected was only damaging herself. I remember the way your eyes dimmed, the way you looked like you were actually going to cry. I pulled my chair across from you, our knees almost touching as I watched you finally loosen your grip on your reservations.

"I can't let that kid stay there. I can't just pitch her aside the way everyone else is. Because I **know**, Alex. Because I know what it means to have your mom ignore you, pretend you didn't exist. For the first fifteen years of my life my mom shut me out.

"When I was nine I broke this vase. This irreplaceable antique porcelain vase. Irreplaceable. She was drunk when she got home, and so angry. She saw me trying to glue it back together, started screaming at me. Calling me a bastard. A stupid, rape-created bastard. 'Cause you know, that's all your daddy was _Livvy_, just some hateful, grotesque rapist'."

I remember how your tears finally started. Slow, and independent, two large drops slipped down your cheeks as you told me about the tone in her voice. About the way she said your name. I wanted to say it then, _Livvy_. I wanted to change the way you heard it. Now I know why you never let anyone call you anything but Olivia. Or Benson. Or, if you're in the lucky few… Liv. I didn't say it. Instead I took your hand, I covered it with mine, stroked your thumb with mine.

I get it now. I get the reflection you see in that girl's eyes. I still didn't approve of you risking your job for this. I probably should have asked you to give it somebody else. Should have told you you were too involved. But I couldn't stand to chastise you. I moved to the couch, releasing your hand and draping my arm over your shoulders, pulling you into me, pulling you into the hollow of the 'c' shape my body made on the couch. It was the first real touch since our fight. The nearness of you drowned my senses, and I lost myself in your hair. I wrapped my arms around your shoulders and whisper to you, trying not to get sidetracked by the scent, the feel of your skin.

"It wasn't your fault Liv. Your mom, this kid… none of it's your fault. I trust you. I trust your instinct. If you think she needs help, we'll find a way. Let's talk to Don. We'll find a way."

It was your first real revelation. One of few. I guess after awhile I got used to it. I got used to talking about me, telling stories and not hearing them in return. I stopped pushing you for details. Stopped asking about your life. I decided I could live without knowing who you had been. It was the not knowing how you felt that infuriated me, frustrated me, and yes.. hurt me. It's something we're going to have to talk about when I get back. Whether you want to or not. Because I'm coming back. And there are things I need to know.


	6. Final Details

**Chapter Six: Final Details**

_Olivia_

You didn't tell me exactly when you'd be back. You said a couple of weeks, but Today is February 3rd and you still haven't appeared. Elliot was shocked. I'm not sure if he was more surprised about my revelations at lunch, or if it was that you were coming back. Either way he was quiet on the drive back. I didn't bother trying to fill the silence. He has his own things to think about right now. And as frustrated as I've been that he hasn't confided in me about Kathy and the kids, being on the outside of his life has taught me a few things. Besides that I'm still reeling from the Patterson case. I can't get the vic and her girlfriend out of my head. It's been three weeks and we still can't convince Sophie to testify. She's so afraid her family will find out she's gay that she's willing to let her rapists go free to protect her secret. I can't say I don't understand her reasoning, although the idea of those three morons going free makes me sick.

Every time the doors swing open I feel my head whipping up, hoping it will be you. Yesterday Novak was on the receiving end of a very nasty look that left her looking confused and offended. I almost wanted to apologize. (almost) After three weeks our conversation is fuzzy in my head. I wasn't exactly awake in the first place, and time has smudged some of the other details. But I know you're coming, I'm sure it's not a dream, and I've spent this time getting ready. I've made some decisions, made some changes. Taken care of some final details.

I painted the kitchen last weekend. Which I know will crack you up. It was the one room I refused to let you redo. Actually, if I recall, I refused to let you redo **any** of my rooms. Repeatedly. Until you gave me that look. That damn doe-eyed look you saved especially for me. I never could refuse that look. But I put my foot down at the kitchen.

"C'mon Liv! You let me do the rest of them!"

"Yeah, and now my bedroom is purple!" I shot you a look, steeling myself against those baby blues. I know what's coming and I need to be prepared.

"But picture it babe, a gorgeous golden yellow. It'll go perfectly with the blue in the living room—like a sunrise!"

"A sunrise? At the end of a hard night, I don't want to come home to a sunrise."

"But now it looks like a tomb!"

"No it doesn't! I let you paint the living room blue!" But only because you picked the exact color of your eyes. Not that I'll **ever** tell you that. Well, maybe I will when you come back.

For once you found you couldn't persuade me and my kitchen stayed dirty-white. I decided that this was going to be my first real project. An immediate way to show you I've changed. Last week I dug through the drawers, found the paint sample sticks you'd left on your side of the bed. I ran my fingers over the bumpy samples, remembering the excitement on your face as you showed me the sticks—you'd spent hours having the hardware store mix and dip samples so I could see what they'd look like dry. You tricked me with the purple, did the living room first, then the bathroom. I trusted you after that… you managed to get my approval on the bedroom without showing me the sampler.

I can't help but smile at the way your eyes twinkled when I saw the room for the first time. I wanted to kill you. I'm just not a lilac kind of girl. But you are. And when I turned to confront you, the nervous, expectant look in your eyes melted me.

"I know its not… you really. But I couldn't help it. I saw the comforter first, then the curtains. All the fabrics were so rich, so dark. I knew you'd love them. But I didn't want the room to be dark… that was the whole point of the redo in the first place. So I went with a lighter purple on the walls."

"You and your damn doe eyes," I said, pretending to be disgusted.

"What do I and my damn doe eyes have to do with your new bedroom?"

"You tricked me. With that… that look! That damn doe-eyed look you get. The one I can't manage to say no to!"

"What look?" The corners of your mouth turn down a little, you widen your eyelids, bat your eyelashes, ever so subtly…

"THAT LOOK!" I can only feign frustration for a minute. "Oh forget it. Well Counselor? Shall we give the room a fair trial before we throw out the verdict?" I turn to face you full on, looking up through **my** eyelashes, then top it all off with a wink. You know the look well. It's the one that **you** can't say no to.

I walked in the kitchen with the sampler sticks, holding the yellows on the wall that splits between the living room and the kitchen. I look at the stick next to the blue, and next to the white, trying to decide. I'm not good at this. I'm not good at the whole, girly-homebody-decorating thing. That's why my apartment stayed white for so many years. Why my dinner table was a folding card table. One chair, old loveseat, no TV. Until you came along. Now all of a sudden I'm trying to decide between 'golden amber', and 'gentle buttercup'—Who comes up with these names!

I pitch golden amber, deciding it looks too much like a good frosty beer… something I don't need to be constantly reminded of and head out to the paint store to pick up a gallon of buttercup. And some white for the cabinet doors. Goodbye white and brown, hello yellow and white.

So now the kitchen is yellow, the way you wanted it. I even pitched in and bought new hardware. Silver handles and drawer pulls. I bought a new microwave, since I actually was tired of jamming a spatula in the old one to close it. And a new coffeemaker and grinder… just for you. In case you need coffee in the morning.

I shake my head. "Getting ahead of yourself Liv. Keep it together. Stay out of the clouds." But I can't help myself. After two years I still reach for you in the morning. I still wake up surprised at the cold emptiness that greets me in the place where you should be. I can't help but think, for the millionth time, that I should have made you stay with me the night Donovan died. Maybe if we'd been together the next night… we could have called in… skipped the party. We'd have been dining at home, in my apartment, or in your loft. The only walk would have been from kitchen to bedroom. There's no place for a shooter in that walk.

The fact that it wouldn't have mattered if they shot you then or later doesn't stick in my mind. Because all I want is to see you again, to try and make it right. To try and make you stay.

_Alex_

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I've been pacing my living room, unable to contain my nerves, my excitement, and I know it would amuse you to know it… my hormones. It's been two years since I held you in my arms, since I felt the softness of your hand in the small of my back, pulling me in. I know you'll have assumed I found someone else, it's what you do. I'm sure you've "awful-ized" yourself into a proper fit about my relationship prospects since I left. I know the way your imagination works. You've probably worked into a proper depression imagining new girlfriends, or knowing your insecurities in a way no-one else would understand… imagining me with a boyfriend. You never could believe me when I said there'd never be anyone else.

Hammond dropped by, and nearly shot me when he saw what I'd done to my hair. I should have left it but I couldn't stand the idea of you not recognizing me. My own awful-izing I suppose, the idea that you wouldn't notice me this way. I hate the look of this boxed red hair next to my skin… don't like the green contacts the Feds thought would complete an "Irish" look. If I'd had my way, I'd have gone for brown hair with brown contacts… but no-one asked me. I bought the hair dye after trying 4 times to sneak away from my security detail and into a salon. The 4th time Hammond himself showed up to stop me.

"Its not safe, Miss Regis." His tone, as always was serious. And I have to stop myself from screaming at him.

"Valez is dead. His assassin is in custody. The entire branch of his cartel is wiped out. And I can't loosen up enough to at least get back my natural hair-color? Give me a break Hammond. It's just a goddamn haircolor!" He steered me away from the salon and I climbed reluctantly into my car, aware that he followed closer behind me than usual. At least this time I managed not to call him a "fascist."

And I didn't cut it. He probably **would** have shot me if he'd shown up to find the same old Cabot cut on top of the blonde-boxed dye. He should be thrilled… I kept my contacts on. I wonder what you'll think of this new do. I wonder what you'll think of the new glasses I'm hiding from Hammond. I wonder what you'll think of me.

I'm pacing the room again. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Jeez, now I sound like Macbeth. What's next, "Out out damn spot?" Or how about Hamlet? "To sleep perchance to dream…" You always hated my propensity for quoting Shakespeare. At least until I quoted that sonnet… the silly one. That's what you called it… "do the silly sonnet." You'd look up at me with that shine in your eyes, and I always broke down.

"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red, than her lips red:

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound:

I grant I never saw a goddess go,

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,

As any she belied with false compare."

You'd start laughing about halfway through, tickled to find something so 'real' in Shakespeare.

And on that first night, our first night. You begged me to recite it again.

"Please, Alex… I have a surprise for you. Just recite the sonnet. And be serious this time! Last time you laughed harder than I did. You have to be dignified."

I started my recitation as you treated me to a moving interpretation of the versus. Then you made me laugh, pursing your lips, mussing your hair, you'd take a deep breath in and then pinch your nose, hit a few off-key notes and then cover your ears. You pranced around the room as I tried to recite with dignity, finally kneeling in front of me at the foot of the bed, and kissing my hand most genteelly at the final lines. Somehow all the levity of the moment vanished in that instant, as I stared down at your kneeling form. There was still a twinkle in your eyes, but something else too. You rose off your knees and kissed me as I sat at the end of my bed.

The force of your mouth meeting mine pushes me back, until we're lying there together, your weight settled comfortably into the dips and curves of my body. I'm lost in you, as usual… the scent of your hair drowns my senses and I feel my body responding to your tender advances. I know you can feel my heat as I return your kiss, letting my tongue play lightly on your lips, asking permission, waiting for the invitation of your open mouth. I fumble with your overshirt, gently trying to open the first few buttons, then giving up and popping the rest. You massage my tongue in your mouth and I feel as though I might explode with each new sensation.

I fumble with your belt as you pause our kiss. Lifting yourself off me ever so slightly, without totally breaking our contact, you settle back, straddling me with your legs bent at the knee, calves behind you. With one hand you stroke my cheek, and with the other, you take my hand and help me unclasp your belt, undoing the button and zipper at the same time. You dip back to kiss me again, and I welcome you as you press your tongue into my mouth, dancing with my own. You leave a space between our upper bodies now, arching out your back to dip your head into me and keep contact in a kiss as you use your free hand to undo my slacks. You're far more adept at this than I am.

In the blink of an eye my slacks and underwear lay in a heap on the floor beside the bed, and as you pull away from me you take my shirt with you, adding it to the pile. I find myself at a disadvantage, left in only my bra while you straddle me, shirt and pants unbuttoned but still on. It's my turn to be in charge. I pull you back down to me, and take advantage of my extra few inches of leg to reverse our positions. Now I straddle you, pulling at your jeans and underwear, then pulling off your now-ruined button down shirt and slowly teasing your t-shirt off your body. They join the stack of clothes on the floor and I go a step further than you were able to. I kiss you again, and pull you up to me, working my arms around you, slyly unhooking your bra… a perfect match to your sky blue t-shirt. I wouldn't have figured you for the matching bra type. As I break my contact with your lips I pull the straps down your shoulders, leaving a trail of kisses down your arm, reveling in the goose-bumps I leave in my wake. I drop it on the floor with the rest of our clothes, noticing something I didn't see before… your underwear matches too. I can't help but giggle, at this unexpectedly girly side of you.

I don't get to enjoy the moment long before you take over again. You shift in the bed, sitting up with me in your lap you mimic my movements and remove my cotton-white bra, then I watch you lean back and take in your first unobstructed view of me. I love that look in your eyes. Lust and Love and Desire all mix in those deep deep chocolates, and I know I'll never forget the way you looked at me that first time.


	7. Sense and Memory

**Chapter Seven: Sense and Memory**

_Olivia_

I can't sleep tonight. For once that surprises me. Ever since you called my trouble sleeping has eased a bit. For three weeks I've rocked myself to sleep with the idea of you; with the thought of you coming back to me. My dreams aren't troubled anymore… not as much anyway. And suddenly they're filled with your face, your live, smiling face. With your call, you came to life in my dreams. Every once in awhile my regret finds me still and I see myself choking on your scarf, I feel Hammond behind me, Elliot beside me. Every once in awhile I still see your face in the reflection of the blue and reds on that hideous black suv. But mostly I remember the good things. The times after I quit drinking. The times after we won cases. The times we managed to wrangle off-time together. Lazy Saturdays at your loft… sultry Saturday nights at my apartment. The scent of you, heavy with sleep in my bed on a Sunday morning.

Mostly my dreams are filled with firsts. Our fist kiss, the real one—not the one from before our fight, but our real kiss. Our first real date, the one we actually called a date, and not just 'dinner.' My favorite dreams though are of that first time. That first night in your apartment you were so cute, watching me cook. We talked about work, but only at first. Then you started talking about your life, about your mom. You talked about growing up in that huge house, feeling alone surrounded by servants and butlers. You talked about the social obligations of being a Cabot. You made fun of your mother, of her propriety. You joked about your "wild streak," teenaged wantonness. I liked the sound of that, but knew your idea of wantonness was probably very different from my own.

And then, after dinner—your gift. I went through four Shakespeare books before I found that stupid poem. I memorized it so I could put the actions in the right places. I know it looked silly, but I was counting on my charm… the charm you're always telling me I possess, to sell it.

In the last two lines.. the only really serious lines of the whole stupid thing…

_And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,_

_As any she belied with false compare."_

I end up, kneeling at your feet as you sit at the end of your bed. I kiss your hand, and look up at you from the floor. I can see in your eyes I won you over… finally. I hold onto that gaze a moment longer and then slowly rise from my knees and kiss you. I lean my weight into your lips and push you back, until we're lying there together, the contours of your body cushioning mine, our height difference making the meeting of our respective dips and curves match perfectly. I can't believe how perfectly you fit beneath me. As if our bodies were made to be together, two halves that fit seamlessly. And then of course I almost laugh at how silly I sound, like some love struck teenager. But I'm pulled back to the moment by the soft pressure of your tongue, resting at my lips, waiting. I open my mouth to take you in, teasing your tongue with mine, feeling the heat rise from you, feeling your fingers struggle with my buttons, I barely hear them popping off my shirt as you fumble with my belt buckle. I pause our kiss, and lift myself so that I'm kneeling astride your legs. I stroke your cheek with my right hand, and use my left to guide your hand to my belt, helping you unclasp it, then undo the button and zipper in one fell swoop.

I lean in to kiss you again, and our tongues dance in your mouth as I arch my back to keep contact in a kiss while I undo your pants. I don't have the trouble you did, but then again, you had a belt to deal with too… and you **are** at a disadvantage—position wise.

Without further delay your pants and underwear lay in a lump on the floor, and I pull away from you, pulling off your t-shirt as I break our kiss. My positional advantage doesn't last long, and soon you use your extra few inches of leg to flip me beneath you. You straddle me, pulling my jeans and panties off in one motion, then pulling off my button down shirt, and slowly teasing my t-shirt up my torso and over my head. You pitch them on the floor with the rest of our things and you continue to assert your dominance pulling my upper body up to you with a hungry kiss, and I feel your arms wrapping around me, and suddenly I'm freed of the pressure of my bra. You pull away from my lips and draw the straps down my shoulders, trailing my arm with kisses, creating a line of goosebumps at the warmth of your breath on my skin. You drop my bra on the ground with a giggle, and I can only imagine what you think of the matching underwear that I bought just for you.

But now we're back to **my** game. I shift, sitting so that you're resting in my lap, your legs on either side of my hips. I copy your motions and remove your white cotton bra, and drop it on the floor, not taking my eyes from your body. You are without question more beautiful than I ever imagined, and I can't believe I'm finally close enough to touch your skin, your lips, feel the flutter of your lashes on my cheek as you kiss my neck, my shoulders. I can smell your shampoo as your hair brushes across my face, tickling my nose, and sweeping over my skin.

I reach for your chin, drawing your face back to mine, watching you lick your lips, your mouth open ever so slightly. I stare at your eyes, a new fire in their crystal blue and I can't believe how much I love you.

Suddenly I can't keep your gaze anymore, I know its because my other hand has found it's target, and I cup your pale breast in my fingers, tracing lazy circles with my thumb around your hardening nipple. Your heat is palpable and I can't stop touching you, holding you, cradling you, drawing you into me in ways I never thought would happen.

I can't believe you're mine.

_Alex_

I've stopped pacing, halted by the memory of you… of us. Three and a half years later I can still feel you in me… on me. I wanted to stare at you all night, but you broke the silence, the stillness. I felt the warmth of your hand as you cupped my breast, your thumb traced circles as I felt my body respond to you, my nipple hardening, goosing at your touch. The nearness of you, the feel of your dark skin on my light is intoxicating, and I break our eye contact to lean into your mouth again, my hands traveling the length of your body. With one hand I pull you into me, and your hand releases my breast and wraps around my torso, trailing up and down my back. I don't know how I ended up on the bottom again, I've stopped paying attention to our larger movements, feeling only the touch of your fingers on my body, the pressure of your tongue against mine, the flutter of your hair on my forehead. You lean down, covering me again, only this time instead of the rustling of our clothes there's only your softness next to me, pressing down on me, filling my hollows, and I'm hyper-aware, every nerve in my body tingles as your hand moves down, tracing my dips and grooves, your body shifts, and instead of a modified kneel over my body, you alternate our legs, and the sensation of your knee between mine is almost overwhelming, and I wonder if you can sense the wetness you've created in me yet.

Your lips never leave mine except to trail kisses down my chin, my neck, across my shoulders… then back to my mouth, your tongue playing games with mine as I feel your hand trace circles again, this time around my belly button… you tease me with your closeness, until I take my hand and put it on yours, guiding you down, guiding you to my slickness, guiding you to the place where I only want you to be.

_Olivia_

The memory of you takes me over and I crawl into bed, grabbing "your" pillow to my chest, as I remember trying to tease you, trying to draw out that moment. But in your usual style, you couldn't handle the waiting… and you drew my hand from its path around your navel, and down. The good thing about that is with my hand between your legs, your hand rested between mine.

I started slowly, still wanting to draw this out, torn between wanting to make you come, and wanting to make you beg. I postpone my own joy and place your guiding hand gently at my breast, inviting you to play, to touch me, yes, even to tease me a little. I start at the top, hip level, stroking your downy hair with one finger, down, almost to the edge of you and then back I trace the triangle above your split with one hand, while I start trailing kisses from your mouth down, resting at first your left breast, drawing your nipple into my mouth, raking it lightly with my teeth, enjoying the way your whole body responds. I move to your right breast, tasting around your aureole, as my hand finally finds its target. Your body bucks under me as my thumb finds your clit, my finger tracing your slit for a minute before I slip it, alone, inside you. I work my way down your body with my mouth, trying to stretch out these moments, trying to slow myself down… and failing miserably, because I can't wait to taste you. I can't wait to dip into you and hear you moaning for more, moaning for me.

A second finger joins my first as my breast slips from your grasp. I see you grip the sheets out of the corner of my eye and I turn and lift my head to meet your gaze. My thumb rests on your clit, my fingers enveloped by your warmth. I look in your eyes and see you nod, ever so slightly, my request for permission granted. I'm glad, because I can't wait any longer.

_Alex_

I've given up on pacing, choosing to change into my nightgown and settle into bed. The memory of you is so strong… I can almost smell your soap. I can almost feel your fingertips on my flesh, I can see your eyes as you look up at me, waiting for my permission before you take that final step. Your touch has left me speechless, and all I can do is grip the sheets and nod, every sense heightened by the warmth of your breath as you approach me.

I try to lie still, to just enjoy the sensation of having you inside me, the sensation of your thumb on my clit, the pressure of your tongue inside me. But I buck beneath your touch. I know this first release will be fast, and I try to hold off, try to focus on the feeling of your hair in the fingers of the hand I've freed from its grip on my sheets. You replace your tongue with your fingers again, thrusting slowly, gently, focusing your mouth on my clit as you increase the speed of your fingers. I can't help pushing in an equal rhythm down against your fingers as they enter me, wanting you deeper, faster, harder. Wanting to feel you all the way inside of me. You stop teasing my clit and take it into your mouth and the stroke of your fingers inside me becomes longer, harder. I can't wait anymore and you take out your fingers, replacing them with your mouth again as you taste my orgasm. I explode against you, my breath knocked from my lungs, and I fight against fading out as I feel the pressure of your tongue, lapping at my seeping wetness. You kiss down my thighs, tracing the path of my orgasm, cleaning my legs with kisses until you finally return to me, return to my lips, my mouth. I can taste myself on you and it's almost enough to push me over the edge again. You play with my tongue and I open my eyes, finding yours open to greet me. I stare at you, getting lost not just in our kiss, but in the deep chocolate recesses of your eyes. I need time to recover. You seem content to let me… content to wait your turn. I'm glad because I want to be able to give you my full attention, unclouded by my own pleasure.


	8. At First Sight

**Chapter Eight: At First Sight**

_Olivia_

It's been a long day. Last night was good, not as good as having you, but a decent substitute. I lay in bed late in the night. I'm not sure when I finally fell asleep, spent from the memory of our first night together. Somewhere along the way my fingers became your fingers, and I remembered every scent, every touch, every kiss from that night… like it was happening all over again for the first time. The memory was so real, so vivid. I forgot it was my tan fingers teasing the place where yours should be. As far as my senses are concerned, they **are** your fingers, it's your hand between my legs not mine. At some point I fell asleep, exhausted... my dreams meshing with my imagination. wake up feeling fresh, the way it always felt to wake up next to you, one white hand resting on my breast, the other's fingers laced in mine. There are no hands to pry myself out of for my shower this morning. And I don't have to tiptoe to start your coffee. You're not here to risk waking. But it feels as though you should be… I roll naked from the sheets—I didn't stay awake long enough to actually put on my sweats last night. It's a nice change. If I close my eyes I can almost pretend you were here, that you got up early… left without waking me.

The rest of the day wasn't as kind as my wake up call. Novak is on our asses about the Patterson case still. Elliot has left the convincing to me and I tried again today to talk Sophie into pressing charges and testifying against her rapists. Her fear of being exposed is obvious. I can't help but think she'd be less frightened to be raped again. I know how you'd react to that statement. I can picture you sliding off the glasses of justice, shooting me that "get real" look you reserve for the times I'm being particularly petty. You've been at the front of my mind all day. I can't help but see myself in Sophie's fear. In her reluctance to be 'outed' by this tragedy. I can understand her reticence. From what she's told us about her life it certainly sounds like this would leave her stranded. Her family isn't as accepting as yours. They're even less accepting than my mom would have been. There's no don't ask don't tell policy for the Pattersons… because to them its not possible for their only daughter to be a lesbian. For them, lesbianism doesn't exist. I leave with same answer I gave Novak last time. She's not going to be happy. This time I'll tell her it's her turn to railroad the victim. I'm tired of answering to her demands. And I'm tired of badgering a girl who's not all that much different from me. Tired of badgering a girl who looks so much like you.

_Alex_

This has been the longest flight in history. Of course it would help if Hammond and his minions hadn't split the trip into about 8 different stops, on 5 different airlines. I can't wait to be rid of that man. If he tries to keep me from having time with just you… I'll—I'll shoot him with his own damn gun.

We hit turbulence and I grip my armrests. First class is all well and good, but they don't add extra shocks when they put in the individual video monitors. At least when they shipped me off to Oregon we went in stages… and drove. I'm a horrible flyer. Not with you of course. That trip to Greece was amazing… I hardly noticed the airplane. But I don't think our particular form of relaxation would work this time. You're not here, and I certainly don't want Hammond's hand up my skirt and under a blanket. So instead I grip my armrests, and try to focus on the music piping through my headphones. We're on the 5th flight and there are three more to go. I've been in more cities today than I've been in the rest of my lifetime—combined. I look over at Hammond and am rewarded with the infuriating sight of his closed eyes. He's fast asleep, just like he was on the last 4 flights. It's the only time I've ever seen the man close his eyes. In the airports he doesn't even blink. Always on the watch… although I don't know for what anymore. He keeps trying to tell me it's safe but he never looks like he believes it.

But **I** do. **I** believe it. I believe it's safe. Safe for me. Safe for **us**. I keep trying to picture your face when you finally see me. I called to tell you I was coming in February, but I didn't know when. I'm glad its now. If I play my cards right I can be here at least through Valentine's Day. I might have to fight Hammond for it, but I know I can win this one. It's easy enough to slip through the cracks in New York. Especially with your help. I imagine you'll have quite a bit of fun whisking me away from the watchful eye of the Federal Protection Bureau and our dear friend Agent Hammond.

He doesn't know it, but Agent Hammond almost got himself killed this morning. I don't know where he got the idea he could just walk in to my house, walk into my space without ringing the bell, without knocking. Without even pretending I had a right to some privacy. I was glad I closed the bedroom door last night before indulged myself in memory and imagination. At least he knocked when he got to the closed door. I wouldn't have wanted to try and explain my nudity, the covers I'd strewn across the floor. The picture of you I fell asleep with in my hand. Waking up with my other hand still dangling in the space I reserve for you. Hammond knows too much about my life as it is. He's lucky he knocked on the bedroom door. Otherwise he'd be walking around without eyes. Or a head.

I glare over at his sleeping form again, thinking of him sitting in my kitchen, watching me finish my packing, peeking at his watch. "Fascist," I whisper under my breath. I stick out my tongue in very 'Lexi' fashion, as you are wont to say when I'm being especially childish. I lick my lips, thinking about all the things I'd rather be doing with my tongue besides poking it at the resting form of my _favorite_ federal agent. Suddenly I lose track of the turbulence… and I struggle to keep my memories tame. I can't afford to look disheveled today. And I don't want Hammond or his team to wonder exactly what I'm seeing as I close my eyes and lean back in my first-class seat. Three more flights. Just three more flights between me, and you.


	9. Back to You

**Chapter Nine: Back to You**

_Olivia_

I jumped at the sound of my buzzer. We'd wrapped early today, Elliot has the kids for the weekend and I was exhausted from arguing with Casey over the Patterson case. Cragen took one look at us and said he'd get Munch and Fin to cover the rest of the shift. Elliot and I parted ways in the company lot, he offered to drive me home but I know he wanted to get to the kids… he's been looking forward to it all week. I catch the underground home, and actually find myself brightening at the sight of my yellow kitchen. Turns out you were right, as usual. It does look like a sunrise… and it's nice to come home to, even on a day like today.

I'd just settled in for the night, finished dinner and cleanup.. changed into a pair of comfy pants and a tank top. I was settling in to watch a movie when the buzzer jarred my peace. It pains me how much I'm annoyed by the interruption… before you started your redecorating spree, I swore I'd never own a television. I get enough news at work… I don't need to watch it on the screen too. When you showed up that first Christmas with the TV, dvd player, entertainment stand and dvds I decided you were crazy. But I let you in anyway, and even took over the construction of the unit. I love you, but you're useless with power tools…. well useless with **most** power tools anyway. Thinking of that makes me grin, and my smile plays across my lips as I move towards the door to find out who's bothering me at 11pm on a Friday night.

_Alex_

It was easier than I expected to lose Hammond. Even he had to admit I'd be safe with you by my side… or rather with me by yours. He insisted on having one of his minions drive me to your apartment… reluctant to let me out of his sight, even to an assistant, but he has things to attend to. I con the low-level fed into helping me fool you. With all of this coming to a close, I'm finally starting to see pieces of humanity in some of these people. I think to some of the team I'm actually more than just a ward. I might even be approaching human status with a few of them.

"This better be important" Your voice answers the buzzer. I knew you wouldn't just open the door. That's why I convinced Rosco to help me.

"Detective Benson? I'm Jason Rosco, from the Federal Protection Bureau. Agent Hammond asked me to stop by and deliver some papers pertaining to an old case. He said you'd know the one I mean."

You sound annoyed still, probably angry that it's some paperboy instead of me. I can't wait to see your face when you open the door. "Come on up."

"Thanks Rosco. And remember, not a word to Hammond. Detective Benson will bring me in on Monday to meet with the ADA."

"No problem, Miss Regis. – Sorry. Miss _Cabot_." Rosco's not a bad guy. One of the more human of Hammond's crew. He turns to leave before I think of one last favor…

"Rosco? If Agent Hammond feels the need to … verify my safety in the next couple of days—discourage him… allright?"

I can see a twinkle in his eyes. I know he's imagining his own problems finding a private moment with his boyfriend while working Hammond's crew. He's the one who first put the word 'fascist' in my head.

I slip in the door I've been holding open, and grab the elevator. I'll be getting enough exercise this weekend. I don't feel bad passing on the stairs.


	10. Glasses of Justice

**Chapter Ten: The Glasses of Justice**

_Olivia_

I couldn't believe that weasel Hammond. Sending over some damn paperboy at 11pm on a Friday. One of the few actual weekends I've been able to beg off. The only good news is that if there's paperwork to do on your case, it must mean we're getting closer. That you're getting closer.

I unlock the door, moving into the bathroom to wash the mud mask off my face—another habit you hooked me on. I didn't want to greet even an assistant of Hammond's looking like a jungle beast. When the knock landed on the door, I was just ready to towel off my face, "Come In! It's open!"

I hear the door open and close, hear footsteps entering the living room, and I talk to whoever Hammond has sent as his errand boy, "Just leave whatever papers there are on the table, I'll be out in a minute." I turn to grab a towel off the rack. It's when I have my face buried in white terrycloth that it happens.

At first I'm convinced it's my imagination. Convinced that the idea of your return has finally driven me crazy. Because I can't possibly be smelling that scent. Because I can't possibly be sensing your presence. I drop the towel and turn around slowly, afraid that reacting to fast will make this apparition disappear. My eyes are on the floor, and I see the tips of dark brown boots. I know the shape of them well. My eyes travel upwards, drinking in every detail, waiting for it all to vanish. When I get to your face I realize you're still there. You slide the glasses off your nose and all I can do is stare.

"What's wrong detective? Are your powers of observation starting to fail you? Don't you recognize the glasses of justice when you see them?"

I can't answer. Instead I look at the glasses dangling in your fingers, they're not the same as before… but you are. No. You're different too. Your hair is longer. Your eyes are so blue. The same blue. But… god. That blue. I look you over again. Boots… and oh my god jeans. You're wearing jeans, and a leather jacket. A leather jacket? Not just any leather jacket… could be a twin to mine. The dark brown matches your boots, and my eyes are drawn back to your face. I'm still not convinced you won't disappear. Not convinced you won't just blink off… sputter out into thin air. I move towards you, drawn in by the familiar smell of you rushing through my body.

_Alex_

At your command I let myself into your apartment. I walk into your living room, and am surprised by the yellow that greets me out of the kitchen to the side. I can see a water bottle on the end table by the sofa I picked out for you. I'm relieved not to see liquor bottles, or shot glasses. I'm tempted to check your fridge but I realize that doing that would ruin the whole point of this night. I decide to trust that you've kept your word. I move further into the apartment and hear you shifting about in the bathroom, I see the light spilling out to the hallway through the open door.

"Just leave whatever papers there are on the table, I'll be out in a minute!"

I ignore you, and tiptoe towards the bathroom door, happy to see your face buried in a towel. The open tube of mud mask on your sink almost makes me laugh, but I don't want to blow my entry. I lean against the doorjamb and wait.

It doesn't take long. I watch you drop the towel and turn around slowly, your eyes still on the floor. I swear I can read your mind. I know you're trying to decide if you've lost it. Trying to decide if I'm just a figment of your imagination. I can only speculate at how my appearance has affected you… but I **know** how the sight of you has affected me. I'm trying hard to keep my cool, to play out my hand. And it's hard because you're staring at me with those eyes, and I'm starting to drown in their depths. I snap back to the plan as quickly as I can, trying to ignore the rumbling in my body. I watch you look me up and the down and then up again. By the time your eyes reach my face the second time I've slid my glasses off my nose.

"What's wrong detective? Are your powers of observation starting to fail you? Don't you recognize the glasses of justice when you see them?"

You continue to stare for a minute… two minutes… I'm starting to wonder if you'll ever recover when you finally start to move towards me. I take a quick step to close the distance between us. Somewhere in the middle our bodies find each other, and we're both speechless.

_Olivia_

As you step towards me I realize I'm not dreaming. I finally believe that it's actually you. Our bodies collide in the middle of my bathroom, and I feel you wrap your arms around me as I bury my face in your hair, your long hair. It falls below your shoulders for the first time since I've known you. As I lose myself in the familiar scent of your shampoo and for the first time since the night they took you away I start to cry.

This is not what I wanted. This is not how I wanted to greet you after all this time. I wanted to be romantic, and yeah, even a little goofy. I wanted to show you how strong I've been while you were gone. Instead I let you lead me out of the bathroom and into the living room. All I can do is let you shuffle me to the other room, wrapped in your arms, brushing angrily at my tears. The sight of you, and your touch.. the confirmation that you're real seems to be the release I've been waiting for for two years. I can't stop them once they start, and I'm frustrated because my tears cloud my eyes and I can't look at you as you try to soothe me.

After ten minutes that feel like ten hours., I finally manage to stay my tears. I take the Kleenex you offer me, and blow my nose—how lovely. I wipe my eyes with a second Kleenex and look up at you, I'm still nestled in your lanky frame, amazed at how safe I feel with you… since I was always the one trying to protect you.

Finally you look like you might speak again. You stare in my eyes, and for a minute I think you've gotten lost there…

"Hi." Your voice sends shivers down my spine. It's soft and warm and I'm desperate not to cry again so I answer you the only way I can think of. I close my eyes and kiss you. The way I've imagined for two years. The way I've imagined my whole life. The taste of you on my lips warms me from the bottom up and I'm relieved. _This_ is how I wanted to greet you.

_Alex_

I know it's not just because of me that you're crying. I know it's all of the little things pressing down on you at once. I know the sight of me, the realization of my presence, released all of the barriers you've been holding up since I left. But still I feel guilty. As I shuffle you to the couch in my arms I almost start to cry myself, but I know that right now you need me to be strong for you. It's your turn now. I let you cry for ten minutes, content to hold you all night if I have to, but you finally pull out of my embrace and take the Kleenex I've offered you. I watch you blow your nose, wipe your eyes. Then you turn to look at me and I'm drowning in those perfect chocolate orbs again.

"Hi." The word comes out soft, quiet. Almost a whisper. It's not much… but it's enough to spark you into movement as you lean up to meet my lips with yours.

We start like new lovers. I'm reminded, for the millionth time this week, of our first kiss. Tender, questioning, unsure… but full of longing. We start this way… almost innocent, but quickly the last two years of aching catch up with both of us. I take control and dart my tongue between your lips, seeking you out, wanting to be in all the familiar places I remember.

As usual my height gives me an advantage… but this time I actually use it. I plant my feet and without breaking our kiss I pull you up with me, then walk backwards, leading you to your bedroom… your lilac bedroom—not that I notice until much later.


	11. Familiar

**Chapter Eleven: Familiar**

_Olivia_

_God._

_Oh God._

_It's really you._

_I mean, it's really really you._

I feel your tongue dart between my lips and feel myself sinking into you again, but you use your height and pull me to my feet, never breaking your oral attack. I walk forwards against your backwards steps as you lead me towards the bedroom. And while I usually prefer to be the one leading you places, I let you take control this time. Before we reach the bed you turn, lowering me onto the soft down comforter beneath your slender frame. Our lips still touch, our tongues play back and forth as you take off your jacket, and start to peel off my tank top. I'm powerless to help you, exhausted by the rush of you, exhausted by the realization that after two years I finally have you in my arms again… or rather that you have me in yours.

Before I know it we're both naked. I don't think we've broken contact since I leaned in to kiss you on the couch. You scoot my body back on the bed and kneel over me, you hold my head in your hands, and I feel my body swelling at the touch of your fingertips surrounding my ears, your palms resting against the sides of my chin… your thumbs stroking my cheeks as you continue to probe my mouth with your tongue, your shocking blue eyes open, meeting mine. Saying more than any word could convey. For a moment I wonder where the glasses of justice ended up, but you quickly erase all extraneous thought from my mind as your right hand leaves my face and traces a quick path down my side, down to my knee and then back, tracing the inside of my thigh until you reach me… until you reach that place where only you get to be. Your usual patience, your usual slow pace is discarded tonight, and I can feel two years of hunger as you dip your finger into me, then out, then in adding a second finger. Your kisses become absent minded, and you break away from my lips, pausing to search my eyes… looking for a matching hunger. You find it, then plant a gentle kiss on my nose, and finally start tracing a line down my body with your lips, with your tongue. You pause at my chest, your right hand continues to slide in and out of me… your thumb finds my clit and traces circles around it, with each pass coming closer to my aching nub. Your teeth rake my nipple and I arch to meet your mouth with my breast. You pull your tongue around the edges of my aureole, planting a gentle kiss on my chest, between my breasts, then slowly… too slowly you move your mouth downwards… until I feel the warmth of your breath between my legs… until I feel the brush of your hair on my thighs. I feel like I'm going to die waiting… you reach for my right hand with your left as you end my suspense.

_Alex_

I don't let up my assault as I turn, lowering you onto your bed. I want to touch every inch of you, feel the cool of your skin on my lips, until I've covered every inch with kisses. But I can't let go of those lips, that tongue. The mingling of our mouths… the way the taste of you mingles with the taste of me until we're almost indistinguishable… I start to feel as though we're breathing as one… you exhale into me as I breathe you in, and you swallow the air from my lungs as I release. I free you from your clothes, both of us… I'm glad you'd already changed for bed.. and that I decided against a bra. I don't want anything to slow this process. Don't want anything to trip me up tonight as I kick off my boots and take in the feel of your bare skin against my fingers.. your lips against mine, your breasts' rise and fall against the hollow below mine. My body responds to you the way it always has… the way it always will to the feeling of that perfect fit of you above me… or in this case—of you beneath me.

I scoot your muscular body back on the bed, and I kneel above you, holding your head in my hands… feeling the contours of your ears against my fingertips. I stroke your cheeks with my thumbs, continuing to play with your tongue, to meet your lips. I stare into your eyes, not wanting to blink and lose this moment. I can't resist any longer and I let my right hand stray from your face, trailing it down the outside of your body… all the way to your knee and then back crossing to the inside of your thigh and up again until I find what I'm looking for. I don't bother trying to tease you the way I used to… I've been teasing myself for two years and I can't drag this out any longer as I slide one finger in, then out, then in, adding a second finger… the way I remember that you like. I can't concentrate on the feel of our lips anymore because I want something else, I have other plans for my lips… other destinations for my tongue tonight. I find your clit with my thumb and draw circles around it as I move my kisses downward. I stop at your breasts and take a swollen nipple between my lips, raking it gently through my teeth. I trace your aureole with my tongue and then plant a gentle kiss between your breasts before I continue moving slowly downwards.

Finally I feel the heat of you greeting my open lips. I can smell your wetness as I pause to brush my hair behind my shoulders. I should have brought a tie-back. I'll remember for next time. For now I flip my hair back and reach up with my left hand to lace my fingers with yours as I taste you for the first time in what seems like forever.

_Olivia_

The familiar feeling of your tongue inside me is almost too much. I struggle to hold back the waves caused by the warmth of your breath on my clit. I can feel my body arching, trying to draw you deeper into me, wanting to feel you all the way to the center of me… desperate for this contact, for this sensation, for this familiarity. I look down at the top of your head as your tongue laps at my core… I can see now—the palest of red hairs in your roots. But I don't hold the thought for long… can't remember why it almost made me laugh because suddenly your mouth has shifted… you're moving back up… one hand still between my legs… prolonging the sensations as your mouth finds mine—and I taste myself on your lips while your tongue darts back into my mouth, pushing at mine… massaging my tongue with yours. Finally it's my turn to act. You take the hand whose fingers are laced with yours and draw it down between your legs. I can feel the heat coming from you before I even get all the way there. Your body closes the distance between us and with one hand you cradle my head again, while the other continues to stroke in and out of me. I match the rhythm of my hand to yours, our arms trapped between our bodies as we push and pull each other to the limit. I try to hold off on my climax… waiting for you to catch up. It doesn't take as long as I thought, and I finally realize just how much you've missed my touch. You move your lips from my mouth and lean towards my ear, but I turn away… I lean instead for your ear and whisper the words you've waited forever to hear me say…

_Alex_

As much as I love the taste of you on my lips, love to feel my tongue sliding between your folds, devouring you inside and out, I want something more. I reluctantly pull away from your peak and move back up your body, leaving my hand between your legs, continuing the assault on the space I'll always consider mine. I find your mouth with mine and thrust my tongue beyond your lips, forcing you to taste yourself on me. I take your right hand, our fingers still laced together and guide it down between my legs, finally giving you a chance to answer my ministrations. You match the rhythm of my own hand inside you as you cup your hand around me, touching me… finally. I can hardly stand the feeling of your fingers inside me, your thumb rubbing at my clit in the pattern I worried you'd forget. I can see your climax building… but I can't let you free it yet.. I have something to say first and I break my kiss and lean to your ear—only to have you lean in towards me first.

"Alex, I love you."

It's all I need to release the first of many waves of pleasure. I feel your body arching into mine as you come with me. Turns out it was all you needed too.

Deep in the back of my mind I realize we've hardly said a word since you realized I was here. We'll have a lot to discuss before Monday. But for now I look down on you… spent beneath me. Limp in my arms but staring intently at my face as you lazily bring one hand up to cup my face, drawing me back into an equally lazy kiss.

This is all so beautifully familiar.


	12. Next To You

**Chapter Twelve: Next to You**

_Olivia_

The sensation of a weight on my outer thigh registers first. The sun peeking through the blinds, making me see red in the back of my eyelids comes second, almost simultaneous to the realization that it wasn't a dream. I don't open my eyes though-- not yet. I just want to take a minute to soak in the feel of you, one leg draped over me, my skin cold except for your contact because you've taken all the covers, as usual. The familiarity of this moment overwhelms me and tears slide from under my lashes. I turn, slowly away from our spooning position, to face you, my eyes still closed-- making my movements as soft as possible so I don't wake you.

I take in the sight of you next to me. When I'm done moving your leg shifts position, your long calf moving up and down for a moment, then settling back against my thigh, your knee bent, your foot curled at an angle I could never achieve so that it rests against the back of my leg. You sleep against me the way I always slept against your pillow, holding me close to you with your long legs, skin on skin. I smile, looking from your now still leg up to your sleeping face. Your lips are parted, delicately and even though I know you'll deny it to your dying day I can hear the faintest snore escape you. I reach my hand up to your face, surprised at how tired my muscles are after last night. I've always considered myself to be in good shape, and I can only assume that it's the emotion of you that has exhausted me.

My thoughts return to last night. I still feel the disbelief deep inside, and I can't help but wonder if I imagined it all, even with your solid weight against my flesh. I know it wasn't a dream, that it wasn't wishful thinking. I know that you're really here, but I still don't believe it.

When I turned around and saw you, leaning in the doorway of my bathroom… Watching me with that infuriating half-smile dancing on your lips, the new version of the glasses of justice resting on your nose. I should have said something. Did I say anything to you? Did I ever find my voice? I can't remember now. But I don't remember you saying much either. A snotty remark about your glasses, and then later that "hi" that reached out to grab me on the sofa. It was such a silly thing to respond to, but I did. It broke my trance, reminded me to breathe, led me back to your lips.

I watch your eyelids flutter, still closed. I wonder what you're dreaming here in my bed where you belong, under my covers, draped over me in such a beautifully familiar way. If it wasn't for the added length in your hair, the fading red streaks that I can see more clearly in the daylight that peeks behind you through the window, I could almost pretend you'd never left. I can't stop the sigh that escapes my lungs as I remind myself that you did leave. I remind myself that you were gone. I remind myself that I had to change to get you back.

I remember suddenly, that I did speak to you last night. But only once. I lean into you again… stopping my lips only a breath from your ear, and I say it again.

_Alex_

I was dreaming about you. Not that that's new. I always dream about you. When I don't dream about the night I was shot. Or the night I left you. Of course even then my dreams are mostly about you. About your face, about your touch, about your tears. How many times have I seen that look on your face, felt the pressure of your hands as you press against my shoulder, trying to stop my bleeding. How many times have I heard your voice, fading in… then out. I know you're talking to me, I knew you were talking to me, looking at me, inches from my face… but I can't make you out. I see your lips forming words…

"Nononononono… Alex…. Alex. C'mon sweetheart, it's ok. Alex?"

I hear you scream at Elliot to call a bus. I watch your face contort in agony as my blood rushes through your fingers. I wonder if you replaced my ring, or if you just had it cleaned professionally. Does blood stain silver? I want to say something to you, tell you I'm all right but as I stare at the tears beginning to fall from your eyes you fade away, taking the streets of New York with you.

But those aren't my dreams tonight. Tonight my dreams are lovely. They're softer, kinder. Full of your smile and your eyes. And those words. Full of those words I waited so long to hear you say. Words I've left you over.

Those words are why I wouldn't go home with you that night. When Agent Donavon was killed. Even after it was all over. Elliot drove us to my apartment and you offered, demanded to stay with me. I wanted you there that night. I wanted you near me. But I knew where this whole mess was leading. I knew that one way or another I was going to have to leave you soon. Whatever we had left blew up with Donavon in that car. And I still couldn't breeze over my anger at you. Even scraped, and bruised, and scared out of my mind… numb with my fear. I've never watched a man die before. And then Hammond, arriving out of nowhere, attacking my intentions as you stood between us, your hand bandaged… the cuts on your fingers still bleeding.

As soon as the official protective detail showed up, I made you leave. I forced you out the door with Elliot. I told you I wanted you both to sleep tonight, that we'd all need to be alert in the morning. You lingered behind Elliot as he trudged down the stairs from my loft apartment. I saw you shoot a look at the bulky men in my detail, I know you thought they wouldn't be good enough… that nobody could possibly protect me better than you. But even in my shock and revulsion and terror I couldn't forgive your omissions.

"Just go, Liv. I'll be fine." I put my hand on yours as it gripped the butt of your gun. "They won't let anything happen to me Olivia. You're going to have an early day tomorrow Detective, you should go home and get some rest."

Calling you that… "Detective," it's my own cruel reminder to you of the rift you've left in our intimacy. I know my eyes look hard to you, the set of my mouth angry. Because even in my fear I'm upset at you. To avoid feeling the trauma of Donovan's death I do something you do well… I'll trade one emotion for another. Usually you replace sorrow with anger. I choose to replace my fear with it instead. I break my contact with your hand, turning my back to you as I leave you to find your way out. "You have a key, lock the door behind you." I don't wait to see you pass through the doorway, and I'm halfway to the bedroom when I hear the click of your key turning in the lock.


	13. Coffee and Regrets

**Chapter Thirteen: Coffee and Regrets**

_Olivia_

"I love you." I whisper in your ear, feeling the words fall easily from my lips. I never thought it would be easy to say that, even to you. I hope it's not just because I know you're still asleep.

Wait… maybe you're not. I feel you start to stir beneath me. The leg you have draped over me is shifting and stretching, and you pull away from me. I watch your face as you wake up, amazed as always by the beauty of you fresh from sleeping. I raise my hand to brush the hair out of your eyes as you open them… blinking once… twice, slowly. For an instant I see confusion cross your face, but it's replaced just as quickly with that smile. The one that always makes me grin in return. One corner of your mouth starts to turn, slowly upward. As the corner of your lips pulls into almost a dimple the other side stretches up as well.

You run your tongue over your lips, licking away the dryness that settled as you snored. Your eyes pass up and down my face, taking me in as intently as I take in you. Our eyes lock again, and I can see your drowsiness pulling at your lids as you speak.

"hi." Your speech is breathy, sleepy. I know you can't function well before your first cup of coffee, but I can't pull myself away from you to start the coffee-maker. Besides, I know that once you're really awake we'll have to start actually talking. I've made a lot of changes in this month since you called, but I'm still not eager to have to explain myself to you, to hear you voice your disappointments, to tell you my regrets. Instead I put my hand in the small of your back, that perfect place above your tailbone… a hollow that seems designed for my palm, fitted to my fingers. I pull you with me as I turn to lay on my back. You wiggle to get comfortable, and settle so that you lay halfway on top of me, our legs alternating like stripes on the bed. I remove my hand from your back long enough to reclaim some of the covers, pulling them over us against the chill of the February morning. A sparkle passes through your eyes as I draw the covers over me, tucking them under my back, using my weight in the bed as an anchor.

You're starting to wake up now, slowly still, in stages. "Old habits die hard huh? Sorry if I stole the covers, I know how you hate that."

"Eh, it's better than the snoring at least."

"I do **not** snore!"

"You do too. Someday I'll make a tape of it so I can prove it to you."

"You'd better. You know how I feel about unsubstantiated claims."

Now I know you're waking up. You don't usually pull out the legal-speak until you've had at least one cup of coffee. I like you better this way… waking up without caffeine. I like watching the changes in your face, in your eyes as you push away the sleep. Usually by the time I'm done with my shower you're already into your second or third cup, as awake as you'll get for the day, buzzing around in the kitchen, or flitting in and out of the bathroom and bedroom getting ready for court, or meetings with Branch. But watching you this way, watching you cast away sleep in steps, I can't believe I've found another way for your beauty to surprise me.

I remember waking up beside you that first morning. Feeling awkward and awed at the same time. I remember thinking about what I should do. Should I wake you? Should I try to make breakfast? Should I stay, go, shower? I stare at you sleeping beside me for the first time and I'm lost. I've never done this before. Never done this in an actual relationship. It's not that you were my first, you know that. It's just that this is the first time I didn't gather up my clothes when it was over, reach for my keys as I pull on my jacket and head out the door. This is the first time I've woken up next to a woman after sex. I'm used to waiting until the girl I've pursued all week during class falls asleep in her bed, then sneaking away … already coming up with excuses to avoid her until she gives up on me, or until she decides it was just a "college thing."

This is the first time that I fell asleep first. The first time that I slept through the night in a strange bed, the curves of my body cradled by another that matches it as I dream. I'm not used to waking up with the scent of another person beside me. I'm not used to the counterweight of another body. And although I got used to it quickly after that, I wasn't used to waking up shaking from cold, bereft of the covers you've stolen from me in your sleep.

I'll never forget the way you leaned into me as I reached to get a corner of the comforter. I'll never forget that first morning kiss. Our mouths sticky from sleeping, warm from a nighttime of speaking in our dreams. I'll never forget that moment.

Just like I'll never forget this one. I break from my memory and return to you, lying in my bed, your body half covering mine. I reach for your hand, intertwining our fingers again. I pull our hands to my lips and kiss your knuckles.

"I love you Lexi. Did I ever tell you that?"

_Alex_

Despite the loveliness of my current dreams, they're starting to fade. And as I make the journey from asleep to awake I feel you rustling in the bed. I can feel your breath on my ear as you whisper to me.

"I love you."

I feel the words more than I hear them, the warmth of your breath pulls me from unconsciousness, and I start to shift out of my sleep, and into your presence. My right leg is draped over your body, and I can tell by the way my hip muscles react to movement that I've probably slept this way all night. I shift and stretch, reclaiming the feeling in my leg, arching to stretch my back, pulling myself away from you for a moment as I wake up my limbs. I settle back in to your bed, facing you on my side, the position of my body mirroring yours as I finally open my eyes, blinking slowly twice against the morning. When I first see you I'm confused… somehow I've convinced myself in my sleep that last night was all a dream. But at the sight of you across from me, still naked and, yes… shivering as you watch me with all the covers hanging off of my side of the bed. I can't help but smile sleepily at you.

I wet my lips, my eyes scanning your face to find a trace of what you might be thinking. I look for your emotion in your eyes, surprised as always at how easy it is to get lost in you. I feel sleep, and comfort, and warmth pulling at my eyes, making me blink again as the sight of your face is momentarily changed to the black of the inside of my eyelids. As I fight off sleep again and open my eyes to see you still gazing at me, I finally unstick my tongue to speak.

"hi."

"hi."

You grin at me, and put your hand in my favorite spot, pulling me over with you as you shift onto your back, pulling me down so that we rest front to front, my body lying half on and half off of you. You leave the hollow of my back to reach for the covers I've stolen in the night and I can't help but giggle at this wonderfully ordinary moment. You shove your edge of the covers beneath you, using our bodies to anchor them beneath you so I can't pull them away again. I don't blame you, the chill of the morning touches at my toes as they peek from beneath your comforter.

I'm starting to feel more awake now, surprised as my brain starts working without the help of coffee. It's odd to be in your bed in the morning and not smell you brewing my coffee in the kitchen. I like it.

"Old habits die hard huh? Sorry if I stole the covers, I know how you hate that."

Your eyes twinkle at me, taking on the golden tone cast by the sun that peeks through the blinds, "Eh, it's better than the snoring at least."

I feign insult, "I do **not** snore."

"You do too. Someday I'll make a tape of it so I can prove it to you."

"You'd better. You know how I feel about unsubstantiated claims."

I can feel my senses sharpening, and I think maybe I could get used to waking up with you instead of with a cup of coffee as you shower and get ready for work. I'll never understand how you can always look so awake first thing in the morning. That hasn't changed in the last two years and your eyes are as sharp and watchful as ever, even though I'm sure it's not past 6am. As much as I'd love to stare at your face all morning, I recognize the fear deep down in your eyes and I know you're already worried about the discussions we'll be having later. I want to tell you not to worry, that it will be all right. It won't all be pleasant, but I can already see some of the changes you've made… I've heard them. I tell my body to move, to lean in for a kiss but you beat me to it, having the advantage of being fully awake. I feel you take my hand, palm to palm, lacing our fingers together, like I did last night. You pull our hands to your lips and I watch you as you kiss my knuckles.

"I love you Lexi. Did I ever tell you that?"

Yes you did. Three times now. I know you've changed. I can tell from the way you talk to me. You know how much I love it when you call me Lexi.


	14. Being Real

**Chapter Fourteen: Being Real**

_Olivia_

We finally crawled out of bed, and you opted for the shower while I went to make your coffee, and scrounge up some breakfast. I thought about joining you, but I needed some space from you to collect my thoughts. As much as we both enjoyed last night, today's discussions won't be easy, and I need to start preparing for your questions. I need to start preparing my own questions too. There are things I want to know about. Things I need to hear about before we can really tackle this thing.

I listen to the water start running in the bathroom and take a glass of orange juice to my kitchen table. You bought it before we broke up, and I almost threw it out when you left, but now I'm glad I kept it, it goes well with the new paint. I lean forward in my chair, resting my elbows on the table, holding my glass with both hands. I picked up your glasses on my way to the kitchen, nearly stepping on them as I crossed the living room. I stare at the shadow they cast on the table across from me, waiting in front of your seat. I wonder if you checked the fridge before you surprised me in the bathroom last night. Did you notice there weren't any liquor bottles on the shelves? Did you notice I replaced my open liquor shelf with pictures of you? I did that before you left. Before you 'died.' You would have seen it if you'd come with me that night.

Did you see that I finally got the window replaced? The super was not happy at the hole in the glass in the living room where you'd thrown out my bottle opener, after you broke the pane with a wine bottle. It cost me almost a grand to get it fixed. I decided you were right; there are better ways to remind myself not to drink then looking at a broken window. That's when I redid the shelf. It stood empty for months, looking stark against my kitchen wall, empty of the things that comforted me for so many years.

I finish my orange juice and get up to pour you a cup of coffee, surprised that you're taking so long in the shower. As much effort as you put into your appearance you were never much of a shower-taker. You never seemed to enjoy spending an hour, an hour and a half under the falling water. Get in, wash, shampoo, condition, rinse, get out. You didn't understand that I used showers to wash away the filth of my job. I know you've seen your share of disgusting things working with us, but you don't usually have to see the scenes. You don't usually have to sit at the bedside of 5 year olds who've been molested by daddy, teenagers with venereal disease petrified of being found out. Sometimes spending 2 hours under a scalding hot shower is all that keeps me from jumping out a window.

I know you're preparing your arguments under the rush of water. I know how much you care about me, and I know that even though the immediacy of your anger has waned over the last two years, you're still incredibly hurt by how we left things. I don't blame you. I said horrible things to you. You said horrible things in return, but I was the one that started it. I was the one that brought out the big guns, the low blows.

I hear the shower tapering down; listen to you rustling with the towels I brought out for you this morning. I crack the first egg over the pan, remembering how much you loved it when your mornings left you time to watch me cooking. Those were some of my favorite times. Early morning, before my first page, or your first meeting with Branch or Liz. I loved watching you sit across from me at the table, papers from whatever case your working on in one hand, fork in the other… the glasses of justice perched on your nose, the black line of their rims bisecting my view of your irises, as you tilt your head towards your papers. This morning will be a little different. Same breakfast, different arrangement. I want to start talking quickly, get it out of the way. If I get distracted by your nearness I'll lose my nerve. I have so much to prove to you today. Now I know how the innocent people feel when we have them in the gray-room. I know how it feels to have to fumble around your fear to prove your innocence… or in my case, to prove my changes. I nearly lose my resolve as I watch you leaving the bathroom in my robe. Your hair is tied up in a towel on top of your head and I can't believe I've lived without seeing the curve of your neck, the contours of your profile for two years. Having you padding around my apartment seems so incredibly normal, finally so real that I can't help grinning again.

Just the sight of you eases my fears. It's time for me to tell you that… among other things.

_Alex_

I stood under the water a lot longer than usual. While I've been away I've come to understand why you always took such long showers. I spent a good part of my first night in Oregon under a scalding hot shower. It was the first time we'd stopped moving for an extended period of time, and as exhausted as I was after traveling off and on for 3 weeks with the ever-charming agent Hammond at my side, I wanted to wash away every minute of the last month. I was desperate to rinse away the things I said to you before I left. Desperate to rinse away the things you said to me. And mostly I needed to wash away the memory of those two final nights. I needed to shed the memory of the explosion, of the sight of Donovan's car blowing sky high with him in it, the force of it throwing us both off our feet. Mostly though I need to scald away the fragments of the night I "died." It's not just in my dreams that the sight of your face twisted with worry and fear haunt me. At first it seemed as if I couldn't close my eyes without feeling the pressure of your hands on my shoulder, trying to force my blood back to my body.

No. Stop this. I have more important things to think about right now. I keep having to remind myself that I'm not in Oregon. Reminding myself that Agent Hammond isn't watching my every move, or at least I'm choosing to believe he trusts you with my life. I think about the best way to start this discussion. I'm laying out my arguments as I rinse the shampoo from my hair, unable to squash a smile at the thought of smelling like you for a few days. The heady vanilla and cinnamon scent of your shampoo fills the shower and I find myself distracted again.. but only for a minute.

"Alexandra Cabot you have **got** to get hold of yourself."

I grab your soap and a washcloth and wash away the evidence of last night's pleasures. I can feel your hands in my hair as I condition it, I can feel you playing with its new length, burying your face in it last night as we waited to embrace sleep. You never seemed that interested in my hair before. Of course it could be because I had no idea where to get a flattering haircut. The pictures you have of me on what used to be your wine shelf can attest to that. I tell myself your new obsession is more about my return than my haircut.

Even as I get ready for this confrontation I can't help but smile, remembering waking up to you again. I really can tell that you've made changes. And not just because your wine shelf was still empty, not just because you fixed the living room window finally. You seem to be drawing out of yourself for once. Externalizing for a change. I thought I was dreaming again when you first said you loved me. I waited for three years for you to tell me what I already knew. Then I left you because you couldn't. And finally after two years away from you, away from the way you looked at me, away from the daily sight of you-- you find the courage to say those words.

I have a feeling that for once this discussion won't be one-sided. I hope I'm right, I hope that you're finally ready to talk to me.


	15. Dialogue

**Chapter Fifteen: Dialogue**

_Olivia_

I feel your arms winding around my waist from behind as I crack open another egg. Satisfied that things are frying along nicely without my constant watch I turn into your embrace, smelling my shampoo in your hair. We end our hug with a chaste kiss as I turn back to tend my eggs. You lean back against the counter perpendicular to the stove, watching me cook. I don't have to see your face to know you're smiling at me. I finish the eggs, and slide two of them onto a plate, handing it to you to carry to the table. I slide the other two onto a second plate and flip off the stove before I join you. You're already sipping your coffee as I stop to refill my orange juice and pitch a napkin at you from the bar counter. There are no case files between us today. You've left your glasses where I put them, laying on the table between us… almost exactly halfway between you and I, like a wire-rimmed centerpiece to our first meal together. There's nothing to get between our pending discussion except food, and we both know we've never let that stop us from arguing before. I can't count the number of times you preached about my drinking over breakfast.

We dally here though. I thought you'd already be ready to start, that you'd kick us off with a dazzling opening statement. I assumed you'd reclaim your courtroom persona. But looking at you playing with your toast I realize you're just as frightened by this as I am.

_Alex_

I towel-dried my hair in your bedroom, wrenching the water from my new do while I try to gather my courage. I should pull out my hair-dryer… I like how easy it is to assume you've left it under the bathroom sink. I decide to risk some frizz in order to get closer to you faster. I change into a new pair of jeans that I dredged from my suitcase in the living room while you were in the bathroom before my shower. My shirts are wrinkly and I fight the urge to plug in an iron, then remember it wouldn't matter because you've never kept an iron. I try to smooth the worst of the wrinkles, wetting my hand under the bathroom faucet and leaving awkward handprints on my shirt hem. I look at my face in the mirror, trying not to focus too much on the lines that suddenly started appearing in the last couple of years. Being without you has aged me. I wonder if you noticed the new laugh lines around my lips. I pull my still damp hair behind my neck, and flip off the bathroom light, as I head towards the kitchen.

You look so domestic at the stove, frying up my eggs… over-hard just the way I like them. I love that you remember all those little things about our life together. You turn after I circle your waist with my arms and even though I'm not that much taller than you are you somehow feel small in embrace today. Your anxiety about this is palpable, and I can see you fighting against old habits as you lift your mouth to mine in a sweet, almost innocent kiss before turning back to the frying pan that crackles on the stove.

I step away and watch you from the side, smiling at this home-body side of you. I always loved watching you cook, and I know from experience that my eggs are almost done as I wait for you to hand me my plate before removing your eggs from the pan. I'm already sipping my coffee by the time you sit down after throwing a napkin at me and refilling your orange juice. All that's left between us are my glasses in the center of the table, casting odd shadows from the light that filters through the window in the next room.

I know it's time but I just can't find the words for some reason. All of a sudden I'm tongue-tied, trying to find a way to begin this dialogue without immediately making us both angry.

_Olivia_

"I'm sorry." It's out of my mouth before I can stop it. I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for exactly. It feels like the wrong thing to say until I look at your face.

"I know."

You don't offer an apology in return, and I suppose you don't really owe me one. I'm the one that screwed everything up in the first place. You've stopped eating your eggs, your toast is forgotten. I've lost my appetite, hungry instead for the cleansing of confession.

You know as well as I do that we won't be finishing breakfast, and you gather up our picked over plates and take them to the sink as I move into the living room, choosing to perch in a chair, drawing my feet up on the seat, hugging my knees to my chest with my arms. I want to be able to look at you while we talk, I want to be able to look at you without getting distracted by your body next to me on the sofa. You sit at the end of the sofa, as close to me as you can be separated by armrests and an end table. My water from last night still sits between us, and the light from the window behind me creates a rippling shadow on the wood.

"I'm sorry," I say again, gathering my courage, trying to find a better word.

You don't respond this time, knowing I'm almost ready to break my silence. Our postures match a night that seems so long ago… longer than two years. Last time we sat like this you were crying, leaning your elbows on your legs, your face in your hands, fingers tangled in your hair. I sat hugging my legs, too angry to cry, to scared to speak.

"Alex, last time… when you were here, when you were so angry at me. You need to know I wanted so much to say something to you. To say what you wanted to hear. But I couldn't Alex. I didn't know what that word meant. I didn't understand how three words could be so important when I went my whole life without hearing them."

"**I** said them Olivia. I said them to you over and over and over again. Didn't you hear me?"

"Yes… … no. I don't know Alex. Life with my mom was-- hard, you know that. I spent my life cleaning up after her messes, sopping up her vomit from the kitchen floor after she came home from a bender. I was five the first time I had to empty a roll of paper towels to clean up the vomit around her head on the living room floor after she passed out one night. I might as well have been the maid for all the attention she paid me. She always cast me the same type of scornful glares your mom gives Celeste when she finds a dusty shelf. By the time I was seven she was ignoring me completely. I made my own breakfast, got a ride to school with a friend's mom or dad, then made my own dinner at night.

"I ate a lot of bologna sandwiches back then. Maybe that's why I'm so picky about the meat I eat. Certain things just remind me of being alone there with her, waiting to smell the alcohol on her breath, waiting to see that droop of her eyelids that tells me she's about to pass out." My chin rests on my knees and I'm not looking at you anymore. I can feel my tears starting to well up in my eyes.

You don't fill my silence as I try to recover my resolve. You seem content to let me speak, and I imagine you're relieved to hear these things, even though I know telling you my secrets, telling you these stories makes you hurt for me. It's a strange feeling, this opening up. Even when they make me talk to Huang, I never get into detail. Not really. I focus on my failed relationships, my one-night stands. I never get into this nitty-gritty of what it was like for me living in that house.

"That first night, when I came to you after her funeral I was beside myself. I couldn't decide if I should be upset or relieved that it was finally over. Ever since I joined the academy our relationship had started to improve. It helped that I didn't have to listen to her footsteps coming down the hall, plodding, unsteady, drunk. Living away from her was like a dream, and all of a sudden my duties at the academy helped me forget what it was like to come home from college for the weekend and having to check her pulse before starting my laundry and locking myself in my room. I was busy then, studying, training… trying to become a good cop-- no, the best cop. I always wanted to be the best. Wanted to be opposite of everything she was. I hated having to see her imperfections laid so bare before me all my life. I remember being in high school, afraid to bring home friends… swearing I'd never drink. That I'd never go down that road, never copy her failings.

"Once I became a cop our relationship actually got better. She had finally started drinking less. She managed to stay sober for a few hours every day. We met for lunch, sometimes for dinner if she was still dry enough to catch a cab. My first year on SVU she actually helped me come to grips with my … heritage as it were. I even thought I'd found my father at one point, with a little help from Munch. It was the first time I didn't feel like she hated me. The first time I didn't feel like I was a mistake to her. The first time I didn't feel like I was a mistake to myself."

_Alex_

I don't stop to say that you were never a mistake to me. I'm afraid if I stop these confessions you'll clam up again. Afraid that your closed-off nature will reclaim you and I'll lose these moments. You stopped looking at me when you started talking about your mom, but my eyes haven't left you for an instant. I think I've forgotten how to blink, afraid to miss any of the emotion that crosses your face. I want to be looking at you when your eyes finally return to mine. For the moment, I just sit, leaning my elbows on my knees, the way I did more than two years ago. But this time you're the one crying, and I'm the one listening. The anger of that moment doesn't exist here. The sound of your voice, the sound of you finally speaking has erased it from between us.

"Before you came…" your voice breaks. I can hear your breath catching on your tears as you try to calm yourself, "Before you came, I spent a lot of time doing things that I'll always regret. It wasn't until I became a cop that I really started drinking. The resolutions of my teen years vanished as the stress of the job started beating me down. I'd head to Maloney's after work, joining other cops as I started trying to drown my stress. It started off easily enough, a drink to sooth my nerves, a shot to erase my cases from the day. I didn't start out trying to get drunk. I figured I could fight my genes, that I could keep it moderate, not get stuck in the cycle. But after awhile, getting drunk was all that worked. Getting drunk… or getting screwed."

I can't help but cringe at the turn this is taking. I know you've been with men, quite a few. I know you spent a lot of time trying to deny who you really are. I'm relieved at your honesty, but I know this is about to get as hard for me to hear as it is for you tell.

"I know you've already heard the gossip about Cassidy. About Michael. You know about the reporter who almost got me fired because he wrangled a look at a case file while he was at my place. They're not the only ones. I tried a date with a woman once at the academy. It … didn't end well-- which was my fault really. She's a doctor now. Actually, she's filling in for Huang while he's working on a federal case. She switched somewhere along the way at the academy, decided cop life wasn't for her… left to go to medical school. She kept telling me she forgave me, that she understood my fears but I could tell she was angry. I know she thought my accepting her date and then shutting down before the night was even over was just cruelty. She tried to kiss me goodnight and I slapped her. I couldn't stand the idea of everyone knowing the very thing I'd spent so much time trying to deny since college."

I didn't expect this turn in your story. I was almost ready to hear about boyfriends, about sex with random men. I wasn't ready to hear about you dating a woman, even if it was before you met me, even if it was just once. Especially since you're working with her now. I feel my first twinge of jealousy, surprised that this isn't an issue that's come up in all the years we were off and on and off again.

"Rebecca was a nice woman. Intelligent, sharp. She still is. I wasn't surprised to see her wearing a wedding ring. I don't know who she married yet, her sexuality was as flexible as I pretended mine to be. From there on out I only dated men. -- No, that's not it either, I didn't really date anybody. Unless you count sleeping with someone after dinner and then never seeing them again a date. I did that a lot. I was never at a loss for someone to fuck. I didn't think I was all that attractive, but somehow when I needed to forget my day there was always a willing partner waiting somewhere around me.

"It really boiled down to a desire to banish the part of me that flared at the sight of a beautiful woman. I wanted to scrub away that part of me that reacted to Rebecca when she was in the room. It wasn't like the way I react to you, but it was similar."

I can't help but smile as you include me in your memories. I was starting to think you'd forgotten I was here at all. And I'm glad to hear you don't hold this… Rebecca and I in the same place in your mind.

"Cassidy was the first in a line of professionally fucked up mistakes. At Special Victims I kept running into these versions of my father. Rapists, perverts, abusers. I knew better than to bring him home with me, knew better than to let him into my bed. I knew it wouldn't last, that I couldn't get attached to him. And it had nothing to do with the job. I could see in his eyes that he wanted more than just one night. I could tell he was the kind to get attached. I'm not used to sleeping with co-workers, or rather I wasn't then. I wasn't used to having to see them every day afterwards. I'm much better at a duck and dodge. Better when I can find a way to avoid my partners afterwards. Cassidy was a drunk, late-night mistake that turned into an awkward, gossip-inducing office mistake. I know Elliot still thinks it was my fault that he left special victim's. He's probably right. I wasn't exactly kind afterwards. It sort of went downhill from there."

You raise your chin from your knees, looking at me to gauge my reaction. I'm glad I haven't shifted from my position, as I meet your eyes. I sit up, taking my elbows off my knees, reaching out to you, laying my hand over yours on the top your knees. I curl my fingers under your palm and give you an encouraging squeeze. I don't want my voice to break your flow, but I need a way to tell you it's ok. You grip my hand and then release it, reaching down to hug your legs to you again, arms laying parallel to each other, dividing your calves in two, I watch you wiggle your toes nervously over the edge of the chair. I can see the struggle in your eyes reminding me how precious these revelations are to you. You've been speaking so easily I'd almost forgotten that the omission of these stories is what kept tripping us up for so long.


	16. Watching You

**Chapter Sixteen: Watching You**

_Olivia_

"Cassidy was a drunk, late-night mistake that turned into an awkward, gossip-inducing office mistake. I know Elliot still thinks it was my fault that he left special victim's. He's probably right. I wasn't exactly kind afterwards. It sort of went downhill from there." I lift my chin from the cradle of my knees, looking at you to see how you're handling all of this. I can't help but wonder if you think you've bitten off more than you can chew. Are you asking yourself what you've gotten yourself into? I take my time meeting your eyes, not quite ready to meet their crystal blue. I'm afraid to see your disappointment there, your judgments, your disapproval. I'm afraid to see your disgust.

As I finally find your eyes with mine you straighten from your lean. You reach out with your hand and cover mine as it lies over the top of my knees where my chin rested only moments ago. I feel your fingers curl under my palm, between my hand and my kneecaps, giving me a squeeze. I grip you in return, giving you the quick flash of my hand curling around yours before I let go, shifting my arms so that they hug each other across my calves, as I curl and uncurl my toes, nervous despite this encouragement. I hug my knees to my chest, tucking myself into a tight square of muscle, making myself as small as possible on the seat cushion, my spine not even touching the back of the chair, my arms not brushing the armrests. I know you don't like hearing this. But I can't stop now… can't ignore the forward momentum. And deep inside the petty, childish, obnoxious, self-protective part of me reminds me that you asked for it. I fight to cast away this observation, and instead get myself in deeper. Now we're moving from things I **didn't** tell you, to things I **couldn't** tell you. It's important to me to explain about Jeff. I don't know why, but it is. It's nothing that you'd ever find out about otherwise, and our relationship happened long before you were ever around. But for some reason his murder last year made me realize some things that even your leaving couldn't uncover.

"There was someone else though. Something else." Thinking about Jeff still hurts me, and maybe that's why I feel like I have to explain, because I want you to know how I can be who I am and still be so upset by that case-- so upset by Jeff, by his secrets. Or maybe it's because I'm hoping that if I can tell you about it it'll make sense to me.

_Alex_

I can see you get more nervous, if that's possible. You're still looking at me though and I'm taking that as a good sign. I can see you fighting back tears again, which surprises me since a minute ago you'd didn't seem to mind that your cheeks were dripping with their salt.

"A year before you joined the DA's office we had a case that crossed over the path of the Bronx DA. Jeff York got sent to us to 'help' with the investigation." You give a mirthless laugh, "More like he got sent to make sure we didn't fuck it up. At first his presence annoyed me, I didn't like the idea of having some fancy Bronx district attorney looking over my shoulder. But he was charming, and after the fiasco with Cassidy I was looking for someone a little more temporary. Which is funny since Jeff's the only guy I really ever saw more than once. I guess I started out figuring that since I only ever hung out in the Bronx during a crime scene, I'd be safe. I figured an ADA would be busy enough to keep from bugging me about a 'relationship.' Even after the case was over, Jeff found time to call me. He was nice, intelligent. And once the tension of being watched while I work was over, we had some decent conversations. For a minute I started thinking maybe I could do the straight thing."

Your eyes flicker and I know you're worried about hurting my feelings. Your difficulty accepting being gay had always been a subtle, but ever-present bone of contention in our relationship.

"Problem was, Jeff and I had no chemistry. We still managed sex, but there was something missing. York had undeniably better character and personality than any of the other guys I'd been with, but as hard as I tried I just couldn't feel a spark. We broke it off after a month, both of us realizing we needed more than just convenient sex and decent conversation.

"Last year, after you were…. after you left, we got called to a Ho-row near the bridge. Black Mercedes found with single white male, strangled by red Lycra leggings. His pants were unzipped and they found a kissed condom on his… on him."

In another setting, I'd pause at how cute you are, blushing as you avoid using the proper words for where they found that condom. For now I'm just lost in your story, afraid of where it's going.

"We started at the beginning of the evidence chain. There were men's fingerprints on the passenger door handle of his car. By the time we'd worked through half of the trail we realized that Jeff had secrets to rival anything I'd kept from the squad. His tests came back positive for HIV, and it became impossible to deny that he'd been a homosexual."

_Olivia_

I'm still fighting my tears as I talk about finding out that Jeff was gay. I can't figure out why it upset me so much. It didn't bother me to think that my own … preferences accounted for our lack of chemistry, but for some reason the idea that Jeff was gay, _had_been gay threw me. I remember Huang's face when he stopped me in the halls, asking if I was all right.

"Sexuality is very complicated. Just because he was gay, doesn't mean he wasn't attracted to you." His words left me speechless, I wanted to tell him then, to explain why I just didn't understand, why it was so hard for me to accept…but I couldn't explain something I didn't understand. The sudden appearance of the suspect's wife spared me, temporarily from my confusion.

I pause to look at you before I continue, wanting to make sure you haven't given up on my completely yet. "At first I worried primarily about the test results. Worried that I might have caught something… not even that, worried that maybe I--" I can't finish the sentence. I can't find the words to say that the first thing I thought about was you. I can't stop my tears anymore, and just as I thought my cheeks were starting to dry I feel a fresh cascade of water escape me. I struggle to stop my sobs, needing to tell you this… needing to tell you that you were always in my mind.

"I worried that maybe I could have given it to you."

_Alex_

I can't respond to you with words. I can't respond to the tears that fall unchallenged from your eyes, except to allow mine to fall with them. As soon as you say the word HIV I understand. I know you too well to think you'd stop to ponder the actual statistics. I know you didn't bother to remember how low the chance of a female-to-female transfer is. I know you didn't bother to remember that we got tested before that first night. I know you didn't bother to think of those things. I know you responded to those words emotionally first, because that's what you do. You've got everyone convinced of your ability to stay essentially detached. They know you get involved in cases, but I'm the only one that's seen the way you torture yourself over them. Of course it's not because you tell me about it. I'm the one that rocks you back to sleep at night, when you're crying in your dreams, groaning at the thought of your vics' pain, unable to calm the dreams that batter you when you leave the day behind. I was the one wakened by your nightmares.

The force of your sobs stops you and I reach out for you again. This time I take your wrists and pull you away from yourself. I don't try to speak through my own tears as I unfold you from the chair and pull you over till you're lying on the couch, your head on my lap. I run my hand over your forehead, stroking the wrinkles above your eyes, using my thumb to catch some of your tears. One of your hands is tucked under my thigh, the other grips my free hand, and I don't bother trying to keep the feeling in my fingers as you cling to me. I've never seen you this way. Never seen you give in like this before. I knew you'd changed, knew something had sparked an alteration in you. I never assumed it was my leaving, and in some part of myself I'm sort of hurt that it wasn't my disappearance that created this, but soon all I can think about is holding you as your sobs continue. I'm watching your shoulders shuddering. feeling my jeans become wet with your tears.

Every secret you've kept falls out as you cry. Every secret you've hidden from the squad, from Elliot, from me, every secret you've tucked away even from yourself is slipping out with your tears, falling into my lap as you turn so that your curling into me, your back to the room, and I lean over you, cradling you the way I imagine you've never been held before, not even by your own mother. My tears are coming harder now too and I watch them fall on your ear, into your hair, powerless to stop them because my hands are full of you as you shake from your sadness.


	17. Evening

**Chapter Seventeen: Evening**

_Olivia_

Somewhere during my breakdown I've fallen asleep in your lap. My first reaction is shame as I remember losing control of my emotions-- something I've **never** done. Not like this. I can't believe I let you get wedged so deep in me. I can't believe I actually told you all of those things, things I've never told anyone, things I couldn't tell Huang even when Cragen ordered me to see him professionally.

This isn't like me. It's not like me to let people in. This is why you left me before Donovan was killed. This is why we kept batting up against each other, butting heads. Aside from the drinking, this is why we couldn't just have a normal relationship. And now all of a sudden after almost 4 years of an on again off again relationship, after 2 years of wondering if you'd ever be back-- I find that I **can't** keep my secrets from you anymore. I'm finally starting to understand all the things you were constantly yelling at me about intimacy meaning more than waking up together. It doesn't mean it's easy. It doesn't mean that airing all my dirty laundry was simple, or that it didn't make me nervous. I was petrified that you were going to leave me a hundred times today. In my head I get that thoughts like that are irrational, because **not** telling you these things is what you've already left me over a hundred times before. But in my heart I'm still scared to death that I'm going to tell you something you can't live with. Maybe that's why I started out with Jeff. Towards the beginning, putting my worst behaviors first, wanting you to see me at my lowest, testing you to see if you'll stick around, or if you'll be just be exactly what I expect of everyone-- unable to deal with the baggage I carry close to me all the time.

When I roll away from the curve of your stomach I see that you're awake. I wonder how long you've been watching me. I can see a sleepy droop in your eyes and I know you fell asleep too, I can only imagine how stiff your legs are. I may be smaller than you by a few inches, but you always teased me about how heavy I get when I'm sleeping. I've woken up this way before, curled in your lap, but back then the face that greeted me was angry, disgusted. Your hands weren't rubbing my back, stroking my tearstained cheek. Last time you had one hand held stiff against the armrest, the other stretched just as stiffly along the back of the sofa, your mouth set in a firm line, waiting for me to wake from my drunken stupor.

This time is different though. Looking at your face I see different things in your eyes. I see the tearstains on **you** cheeks; I see the concern in your eyes, that place on your lip that you bite when you're worried. You look relieved to see my eyes open, and you lean down to place the barest flutter of a kiss on my lips.

You're the first of us to speak, "Hi."

"Hi."

"Feel better?"

"You're still here."

"Where would I go? The cartel is out to get me remember?" There's a twinkle in your eyes all of a sudden, but my stomach turns at your attempt at levity. Even though it's finally over I don't think I'll ever stop worrying about losing you to them again.

"Don't joke like that, Alex. I know you feel like things are back to normal but that's no reason to let our guard down." I pull myself off your lap and stretch out all the joints that are out of wack from being curled first in a box on the chair, and then in a ball in your lap. I rearrange, staying on the sofa next to you, stretching my legs for a minute before tucking them under me Indian style. You arch your back in a stretch, and pick your feet up off the floor, pulling up first one knee, then the other, then rubbing your thighs, probably trying to get the feeling back from where my head lay heavy on you. Then you settle back, turning towards me and mimicking the tuck of my legs.

I can't help but laugh seeing you sitting awkwardly on your legs. It's clearly not comfortable, and you get a vaguely perturbed look on your face as you shift, trying to find a comfortable way to fold your legs like mine. Finally you give up and modify your position. One foot rests on the floor, the other tucked partway under you.

"Did you sleep long?"

"No, mostly I watched you. You were still crying even after you fell asleep. Although you did seem to stop shaking once you were really out. I thought about trying to find a blanket but I was afraid to move you. I didn't want you to wake up and think I was gone." It amazes me that after all this time you can still tell what I'm thinking.

"Sorry if I cut off the circulation for awhile…"

"Geez Livvy, you're not **that** heavy. I mean, it wasn't the most comfortable position, but it was better than the time we tried to do it on my desk at work."

I watch your eyes sparkle again. And this time I do laugh, remembering about how I thought you'd lost your mind. And then having to hide under your desk when Arthur knocked on the door to check on some papers.

You lean into me again, this time kissing below my ear before you whisper, "It's good to hear you laughing."

I almost miss that you've called me Livvy. I guess today there are firsts for both of us. I wonder what time it is, how long we've been asleep and I realize I never put my watch back on this morning. You predict my thoughts again and peek at yours while you turn towards the window.

"It's evening already. We slept longer than I thought. I guess I lost track of time while I was holding you..."

I know you don't want to finish your thought, and I hope that you won't but for the first time since you've been back you disappoint me,

"There are still things we need to talk about, Livvy. You had your turn, and I know you think I've had more than my fair say before I left, but you're not the only one who's changed during these last two years. There are things I need to say too."

I think maybe I was more afraid of this than I was when I started confessing to you last night.

_Alex_

I did sleep for a bit, but I woke up as my upper body began to fall downward, pulling awkwardly at a cranky muscle in my back. The quick blast of pain in my lower back jerks me back up, and I quickly look down to see if I've woken you. I didn't need to worry, you're sleeping so deeply, and once you stopped crying I was relieved to see that you seemed untroubled by nightmares for once.

I spend my time waiting for you to wake up, rubbing your back and tracing the tearstains on your cheeks. My thighs are tingly from the weight of you in my lap, but your sleepy breath on the stomach of my t-shirt is too delicious for me to care much about the feeling fleeing from my legs. When you finally start to roll away from me I can't fight off the unbidden memory of the last time you woke up here, head in my lap, where you plopped it before you passed out on the couch.

It made me so angry, the way you manipulated me when you were drunk. How you hid it from me until you had your head in my lap, trying to kiss me with the stench of alcohol on your breath, you'd drunk so much I could still taste the vodka on your lips as I tried to push you away from me. I didn't get a chance to roll you out of my lap and take my work to the bedroom-- you pass out in my lap, and I'm trapped by the weight of your drunkenness curled in my lap. I stretch my arms out on the side and back of the sofa and try to touch you as little as possible while I wait for you come to. It was the last time we fought about your drinking. And the first time I ever left you.

I'm happy to replace that memory with this one. I'm sure I look like crap, I cried almost as much as you did once you finally fell asleep. The sight of you huddled in my lap like a child was too much for me. I started to regret the demands I'd made of you all these years. No. That's not right. I don't regret finally knowing the things that make you cry out at night, turning and pitching under our covers. And as hard as I know the York situation was for you, I'm touched that your feelings for me were so deep that even after I've been gone the mistakes of your past immediately make you think of their affect on me. It's good to finally know that your silence all those years wasn't because you didn't care. I mean, I knew that. I never doubted that you loved me, but somehow hearing the agony in your voice cemented it.

_"I worried that maybe I could have given it to you."_

With one sentence you destroyed yourself, and erased every fear I felt about the core of our relationship.

I'm called back to the present by the sight of you opening your eyes and taking me in. I watch you blink away your sleepiness and then lean in the leave a soft kiss on your lips before I break our silence,

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Feel better?"

"You're still here."

"Where would I go? The cartel is out to get me remember?" It's a tasteless joke, I know, but I can't help trying to lighten the mood. I can tell right away it was the wrong thing to say, as you're suddenly wide-awake, that familiar flash in your eyes.

"Don't joke like that, Alex. I know you feel like things are back to normal but that's no reason to let our guard down." You pull yourself out of my lap and stretch, ending up sitting on your legs Indian style, facing the window, my body sitting normally on the sofa, perpendicular to you. My neck hurts turning towards you and I finally stretch myself, pulling my knees to my chest on at a time to work out the stiffness. I rub at my things, getting my blood moving again, and then try to mirror your pose. Even though I'm not that much taller than you are, you always did say I'm all leg and I can't find a comfortable way to position my legs beneath my on the sofa cushion. I finally give up and leg one leg dangle over the sofa with my bare foot back on the cold wood floor. This way I'm facing you and I don't have to feel the stress that hasn't worked all the way out of my back and neck. I take a minute to tip my head from side to side hoping to pop the stiffness out as you speak.

"Did you sleep long?"

"No, mostly I watched you. You were still crying even after you fell asleep. Although you did seem to stop shaking once you were really out. I thought about trying to find a blanket but I was afraid to move you. I didn't want you to wake up and think I was gone."

"Sorry if I cut off the circulation for awhile…"

"Geez Livvy, you're not **that** heavy. I mean, it wasn't the most comfortable position, but it was better than the time we tried to do it on my desk at work." I take a risk with that name. Only one other person has ever used it, and for years I've wanted to find a way to change the way it sounded in your ears. I'm relieved to hear you laugh, even though I'm sure it's more about the reference to my solitary wild idea and not about the nickname.

I lean into you again, kissing the dip just below your earlobe and whisper my approval, " It's good to hear you laughing." I notice you looking around; see that your wrist is empty of the huge man's watch you insist on wearing. I turn my face towards the window and check my own thin watch face, "It's evening already. We slept longer than I thought. I guess I lost track of time while I was holding you…" I know this moment can't last forever, but I don't want to finish this thought. "There are still things we need to talk about, Livvy. You had your turn, and I know you think I've had more than my fair say before I left, but you're not the only one who's changed during these last two years. There are things I need to say too."

I can see fear brewing deep in your eyes again, and I kiss your closed lips quickly again, trying to assuage your worries.


	18. Vodka

**Chapter Eighteen: Vodka**

_Olivia_

As your lips brush against mine again, more quickly this time, I know you're trying to reassure me. I wish it had worked but instead I'm still sitting across from you, afraid of the questions I know are coming. We started out well this morning. As hard as it was, draining on both of us, I know it needed to happen-- should have happened years ago-- will probably have to happen again once you're back for good. I finally let you through the door I've kept locked tight against you for four and a half years, and I know I'll never feel quite the same again.

It's not that my admissions make me feel unsafe, not when I know my absolution from you is automatic. It's just that having you know that much about me makes me that much more vulnerable to you, to our relationship. I guess I can call it that now. I'm not sure what it was before, what we had. It was more than just the sex, but something shy of what I know you craved between us.

It's time for the intimacy you always said I couldn't handle. Time for me to answer to you. A few years ago I would have balked at the thought have having to answer to **anyone** about how I feel, about the things I've done. It still feels odd knowing that before we sleep tonight you'll know as much about me as anyone who's ever been in my life. You'll know everything… you'll have all of my defenses in your hand. I know you won't try to use them against me-- that you won't try to use them to hurt me-- but it's still hard to face letting them go, even for you.

I try to focus on the sound of your voice. I try to breathe in the way my name fell from you lips as you changed the meaning of that word… "_Livvy."_ I hold it in my head, in my heart as your interrogation begins, reminding myself every second that you need to know because you love me, and not because you want to hurt me. You need to know because _I_'ve hurt _you_.

"Livvy. Livvy. Livvy. Livvy." I make it a mantra in my heart as I see you lick your lips, ready.

_Alex_

I wonder what you're thinking right now. I know you're scared, it's obvious. It radiates from you without your acknowledgment. I can see you struggling not to let your fear put back the walls you crushed from between us last night. I lick my lips, and take your hand, wanting to be able to touch you while I do this. To make this connection, so you can remember that I need to know because I love you, and not because I want to hurt you.

"When did you actually stop? It wasn't when you told me. Even when I came back I knew you were still drinking." I can see you flinch. You weren't expecting me to start here. You probably thought I'd start easier, gentler. I know this is cruel, especially considering the things you told me last night, and I shouldn't be using this as a test, but after two years I can still feel a sharp edge on my anger, even if it has been muted.

"After you threw the bottle of wine out the window. The day I woke up hungover in your lap on the couch. You know it was one of my worst benders, but I still remember the things I said to you when I got home from the bar. I was so angry with you, for getting Elliot and I wrapped up in your mess with Donnelly. I was angry with you and upset with myself for yelling at you when I knew how stressed you were about the Cavanaugh case. I knew you would be here, waiting for me and I went to Maloney's first. I figured I'd toss back a few, put a damper on my anger before I had to face you again. I didn't want to yell at you again."

I remember that night, that day. I broke the rules, bent them till they fit my purpose and nearly got myself, and you fired. I had a lot to be sorry about that night too. But the longer I waited for you, the less sorry I felt, and the more disgusted I became.

"Well, You didn't yell."

"No. Instead I sat on your lap and played with your hair. I plied myself into your arms and pretended I'd forgiven you. When I saw the look on your face after you kissed me, after you tasted the vodka that lingered there… I didn't think. I didn't yell, I just got mean, called you a pushy, self-serving bitch."

"Among other things." The memory of those words spilling out of your liquor soaked mouth makes me sick. It feels like the pain is fresh all over again and I have to remind myself that it's not who you are anymore. This is going to be harder than I thought.

_Olivia_

I was awful to you that night. Worse than awful. None of our fights were pretty but that last night before I quit drinking was especially heinous. I can see in your eyes that it still hurts you, thinking about the things I said.

_"What were you thinking Alex? Did you just decide the law didn't apply to you, and by extension to me? Trying to get me fired?"_ _My speech is slurred, crushed in on itself by force of alcohol. "Jesus Alex, honestly. How can you be such a pushy, self-serving bitch?" _

_"I wasn't doing it for me Olivia. I was trying to help them. I was trying to get the evidence I needed to make this work."_

_"Fuck that. Admit it _Alexandra,_ you thought maybe this could be the case to put you over the top right? Take you out of the ADA's seat and into a judge's robe? I always knew you were just a fame-monger. Well you almost got yer headline tonight baby. I can see it now, 'crazy blonde assistant DA blows case and gets entire squad of the one-six fired.."_

I remember you face, the way it fell as I got myself deeper and deeper.

"I was wrong Alex. And not just because of the drinking. Drunk or sober I had no right to attack you that way. Especially that day, you'd been beaten down enough. I know you better than that, I knew you better." For the first time this evening. I find myself apologizing to you, "I'm sorry Alex. I'm sorry." It won't be the last time those words cross my lips tonight.

_Alex_

I never doubted that you were sorry. Well maybe I did at first. But somehow I always knew without you saying it. It was like "I love you." I knew you felt it even if you didn't say it. My reaction to your apology isn't the same as my reaction to hearing you say you love me-- there's a less visceral aspect to it. But I still feel those words deeply. It still amazes me to hear you saying things I never thought you'd be able to part with. And the apologies are a big part of that. I'm not out to punish you, but I need to hear you tell me that you **are** sorry.

"And you quit. After that night?"

"As soon as you left the next morning. Do you remember having to sleep in the sofa because I… because I passed out on top of you?" _As if I could forget_.

"Yes. Do you remember what you said to me that morning?" Your eyes cast downward in response. I knew you would.

"yeah. Yeah, I remember."

"'Well thanks for a lovely evening, _counselor_. We'll have to do it again sometime. But next time, give me a little warning before you try to fuck over my life and take away my career.'" I can't keep the sneer out of my voice, mimicking the attitude you threw at me that day. I was so incredibly angry. With the exception of our last fight, before I died, I think it was the angriest I've ever been at you. I'd put up with your drinking as long as I could stand it.

The Cavanaugh case nearly killed me, in more ways than one and I needed you that night, even though I knew you were angry too. I went to your apartment to apologize, to hope you'd forgive me. I let myself in with the key you made for me and waited for you. And waited. And waited. When I called your cell and heard the sounds of the bar in the background I knew I wouldn't be getting any comfort from you when you finally came home. I didn't think you'd be as far gone as you were, but I knew you weren't going to just forgive me.

You showed up at about 1am. I was in the bathroom washing the tearstains off my face when I heard Elliot bring you in. I'm not sure what he would have thought if he'd seen me waiting for you, or what he would have said… he had reason to be angry with me too. I walked back out and watched you as you noticed me. I didn't know how drunk you were yet. I know you all worked late, and I had no idea what time you went to the bar.

"Liv. I'm sorry, I had to come by and… talk to you. I wanted to apologize… again."

"S'ok. Sit down, we'll chat."

You sat on the sofa, leaving room for me on the end, and I join you, leaning against the back of the sofa, staring straight ahead as I start trying to beg your forgiveness, "Olivia I was wrong today. Wrong about this case. I should have followed the rules, I know their there for a---"

You interrupted me, turning and leaning back, almost climbing into my lap.

"S'ok, counselor. Forget about it." And that's when I knew. You leaned towards me and planted a kiss on my lips. I could smell the alcohol on your breath; I could still taste the vodka you'd no doubt been knocking back all night. I lost my taste for apology.

I pull away from your kiss; try to extract myself from your arms. "God Olivia. Did you wipe out the Vodka at Maloney's or what? Listen; -- stop-- " I have to interrupt my anger to push you away again as you try to plant another kiss on me. "Olivia! --- Benson! Knock it off. Look, I'm trying to apologize Olivia, I'm trying to tell you I made a mistake. Do you get that? Does that register in your liquor-addled stupor?"

Behind the alcohol float in your eyes I see anger register, "What were you thinking Alex? Did you just decide the law didn't apply to you, and by extension to me? Trying to get me fired?" Your speech is slurred, crushed in on itself by force of alcohol. "Jesus Alex, honestly. How can you be such a pushy, self-serving bitch?"

"I wasn't doing it for me Olivia. I was trying to help them. I was trying to get the evidence I needed to make this work."

"Fuck that. Admit it Alexandra, you thought maybe this could be the case to put you over the top right? Take you out of the ADA's seat and into a judge's robe? I always knew you were just a fame-monger. Well you almost got yer headline tonight baby. I can see it now, 'crazy blonde assistant DA blows case and gets entire squad of the one-six fired.."

Even though I know you're drunk, not thinking about how the things you're saying affect me, it stings. I'm angry, and hurt, and I can't stop my tears.

"We can't keep doing this, Olivia. **I** can't keep doing this. I can't keep watching you self-destruct this way."

"Well hon, tonight is all _about_ you isn't it. Just like today was. It's all about _Miss Cabot_. Making your case, getting your evidence. Pardon me, I'm just your investigator."

"Olivia, please."

You're still angry and so am I, and I can see the edge we're treading. But the alcohol is depressing your senses, making you sleepy. I can feel you getting heavy on my legs.

"Olivia, do **not** fall asleep. Don't. Do **not** fall asleep in my lap. You're not welcome here anymore."

I'm talking to myself. You're out, passed out completely and the weight of you keeps me stuck to the sofa. I'm repulsed by you there, disgusted at the sight of you curled up in my lap. I thought about leaving. About trying to muscle you off of me so I can go home, back to my loft. I decided I'd rather wait for you to wake up, so that you can watch me leaving you. I didn't anticipate fighting with you again in the morning. The plan was just to leave. But as usual for us, things don't go according to plan. We continued arguing back and forth until I couldn't take it anymore. Before I stalk out of your apartment, I throw a wine bottle through your living room window, taking a moment to pitch your bottle opener out after it.

"If you really feel like you need it so badly Detective Benson, follow the flight path. Fuck you!" I leave, slamming your door behind me before you can respond.


	19. Window

**Chapter Nineteen: Window**

_Olivia_

I can still hear the door slamming behind you. I can't believe the things I've said to you, and for once I wish I could just be the kind of blackout drunk that my mother was. Unfortunately alcohol never interferes with my memory, just my good sense.

I don't have to wonder why my window is broken, I don't have to wonder where the bottle of my favorite Merlot is. As I sink into the sofa cushions I can remember every word that we said to each other last night, and this morning. I stare out the broken window, willing it back together, willing you back in my apartment, willing away the effects of last night, of yesterday. I close my eyes, turning my head back to the floor in front of my door, praying that when I open them I won't see your key laying on the wood where you dropped it before you left.

"After you left, I just sort of sat there. I couldn't believe the things we said to each other, and I couldn't stand to get up and take care of the window, or pick up your key. I kept thinking about the last time we fought, about how you left. The last time you had taken your key with you. I think that's what did it more than anything. Cause when I opened my eyes your key was still lying on the floor. I knew that if I could just make that key disappear, it would mean everything was going to be ok.

"I didn't care about the window. I didn't even care that much about the wine, or the bottle opener." I see the flash of disbelief cross your eyes, and I correct myself,

"No, I know. That's not entirely true. I did care about the wine. And I was pissed about the bottle opener." It's not easy to admit these things… or this, "My first instinct was to get up and pop open a beer. I was already wishing I'd bought twist offs instead of poppers. I was thinking about wedging the bottle top against the counter to open it. And then the sun caught your key."

I'm crying again. I lose my words, I can't find a way to explain the way it felt, thinking I wasn't allowed to be with you anymore-- thinking that I wouldn't be able to see you after work anymore-- that I wouldn't come home to find you here anymore.

"You scared me Lexi, I scared myself… part of me wanted to fly out that window after my bottle opener. And part of me just wanted to crawl over to your loft, to swear I'd be different." I've finally found the strength to meet your eyes again, my admissions giving me courage. You're crying again and I start to choke up too. All the times I was causing you pain, I didn't watch you while I did it. The times when I hurt you most you left before I really saw what it did to you. I know the force of it isn't as strong now as it was when I said those horrible things in the first place, but the memory of your pain flashes across your eyes and I squeeze your hand.

"I sat in that apartment for hours. I missed my shift at work, called Elliot and said I was sick, asked him to cover for me with Don. When I hung up the phone I moved into the kitchen and starting cleaning up. I opened the fridge and took out the six-packs. I grabbed the whiskey out of the cabinet, and I even snagged the cooking sherry. I cleaned off the wine shelf, already off balance from the missing Merlot. I found a corkscrew and opened every bottle of wine, tipping them into the sink and watching golds and reds and purples swirling down the drain. I don't remember how I opened the beer. But I remember holding each bottle to my lips, wanting so badly to pour them down my throat, and choosing instead to dump them down, after the wine. I cleared out all three of the six packs, without taking a single sip. By the time I finished clearing the whiskey I was exhausted, and I went to get a box from the closet to put all the empties in."

_Alex_

I was so angry that day. For once I didn't think about how you felt. I didn't care. I dropped your key on the floor and felt satisfied by the sound of its clunk against the wood. I think it felt even better than the sound of the slamming of your door. I care now though. I care about how you reacted to that, to my leaving. After that day I did notice there was a difference, and when I did come back to you I noticed the empty wine shelf. I just assumed you hadn't stopped completely, which is my fault I suppose-- maybe not. It wasn't as if I had any past experience to call on when it came to trying to believe the things you told me. I'm relieved to hear now that you really had stopped when I thought you had. I'm glad to know that the fights we had later on weren't tinged with your alcoholism, with remnants of your disease. It doesn't make them easier, but for some reason it makes them less troublesome. Because now I know that from that point on we were only fighting about whatever we were actually fighting about, and not about that and the alcohol.

"I couldn't throw out that box once I'd filled it. I put it on the floor by the window, which I didn't patch. I left your key by the door and crawled into bed with a bottle of water. When I woke up it was dark outside and I could smell the scent of stale alcohol seeping from my pores. I stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, expecting… I don't know…"

"Expecting to see your mom?"

You pause before answering. "Yeah. Expecting to see my mom. When I saw my own face in that mirror…" You shudder, squeezing my hand again, needing help before you can continue. I decide you've done enough for now.

"It's ok Olivia. Stop. I-- I get it. I'm sorry you had to go through that. Sorry that you had to do it on your own."

"No. Don't apologize Lexi. You were right. You were always right. Not just about the drinking. And if you hadn't left that morning the way you did I would never have figured it out. You know I only fixed that window about a week before you called? I mean, I taped over it, covered the hole with some plastic. But I didn't get the glass replaced, even in the winter, when I had to redo the plastic every single day. I left it and the box of empties right where they were.

"After awhile the empty bottles started attracting flies and I finally found the courage to throw them away, but I needed to see that window every day to remind me what I was doing."

"I knew. Well, I didn't know you waited until last week, but I did wonder if you'd ever gotten it taken care of. Did you think I hadn't noticed?"

"I always kept the shade down when you were there. Remember when you redid the living room? I made fun of your carpentry skills and took over the hanging of the curtains..."

"…And you painted around the baseboards and the window frames when I wasn't there." I remember now, being surprised at your willingness to help with something you'd resisted so fiercely. I thought it was a sign that you liked the changes. "Why didn't you just tell me? Why didn't you just say that you wanted to leave the window as a reminder to stay sober?"

"Because I don't talk-- remember?" You stop, then correct yourself, "Because I **didn't** talk. I thought you'd think it was stupid. We never talked about the drinking again after that night and I didn't know how to explain why I couldn't even fix a silly window."

You don't have to explain now, because I understand. And even though I'm ready to start on the next question, you have something else you need to tell me.


	20. Replacing You

**Chapter Twenty: Replacing You**

_Olivia_

I wasn't going to tell you this part. I wasn't planning on admitting to something you couldn't possibly find out about. It doesn't even have any real bearing on our relationship because all it does is make me look foolish. But I know that if I'm really going to do this I have to be completely honest, even about the things you'd never know otherwise.

I already feel stupid, telling you about that window, and I'm not feeling much better now. "After… after you left me the last time. I mean, before you left. Before you died. Before you left…-- dammit" It's frustrating trying to explain it like this. You left and then you died and then you left and I can't make the timeline sound right out loud.

"I know what you mean."

"Anyway, we had that fight about, well about the same old thing and I was so angry because I couldn't understand how you didn't know that I loved you. I couldn't understand why you were so obsessed with hearing me say it. When you left and said you'd be back when I learned to talk, I sort of knew you weren't coming back again. Because I knew I'd never be able to say certain things, not even to you.

"That night I went out to the bar and got a scotch. I sat there at the counter and stared at it. All night. Until they kicked me out. I'd pick it up and swish it around, smell it, run my finger around the rim. I wanted to drink it so badly it hurt. At some point Elliot walked in with Don and they sat next to me. Don put his hand on my back and Elliot slid my drink over, picking it up and taking a taste, making sure it really was alcohol. He knew I'd quit drinking, even though I didn't tell him exactly why. His eyebrows went up, you know how he gets, but he didn't say anything for awhile.

"'Whatcha' doin Liv?'

"I didn't know what to tell him, so I didn't say anything, just shook my head, and slid the drink back in front of me. 'Thought you quit.'

'I did.'

'So what's that?' he asked me, 'Spicy water?'

I told him.

'Scotch? Since when do you drink Scotch, even when you drank?'

'Seemed like the right thing to get. Failed relationships and all that. You always see guys drowning their breakups with scotch in the movies.' He laughed when I said that.

'Breakups huh? Who's the lucky -- er, stupid guy?' I knew he was gonna ask me, and I almost told him about you. But I was having a hard enough time trying not to drink that scotch without getting into a discussion about my relationship with a **female** coworker… no offense."

"None taken."

"I told him not to worry about it, asked him to leave it alone. He did. Don never said a word. Even after Elliot went home, Cragen just sat there watching me watch my scotch glass. I never could understand how he could go to the bar with everybody after a case and not want to drink. I stared at that drink so long that by the time they kicked us out my vision was distorted, like I was looking at everything through brown, watery glasses. Don insisted on driving me home. He told me about the first time he'd done what I did. About sitting in a bar until closing, staring at a drink. He said when it was over he'd gone home and bought a bottle of Whiskey… his drink of choice. Said he set it on the counter in the kitchen… right in the middle where he couldn't ignore it. He said it reminded him that **he** was the one with the power, not a bottle of some random brown liquid."

I remember Don's voice, that rough, deep dad-voice. "You don't have to let this have power over you anymore Olivia. You're stronger than the scotch is. You're stronger than the vodka too."

"He tried to get me to go to a meeting that night. Which was nice, but I'm pretty sure you know that's not really my thing."

You nod, and I can tell you don't want to interrupt me.

"So I ended up back at the apartment, all your stuff was gone, your key was in an envelope in the living room where it landed when you slid it under the door. Seeing it there didn't upset me the same way this time. I'd known you were leaving ever since we found Lydia in that ally. I didn't know you were going to get yourself 'killed' over it, but I knew you wouldn't be back. The night we found her was the night you started really pushing me, trying to draw me out like you had in the beginning. I saw that you were going to leave me from a mile away. Why do you think I was so upset about the way you were going after that case, even when you knew how dangerous it was?"

_Alex_

Well, I asked for honest. I didn't expect _that_ honest, but ok. I guess I figured you were upset about the case because you were worried about me. As much as I want to hear this I can't help but think the truth sucks.

The look on your face softens and I realize I've said that aloud.

"I'm sorry Liv. I asked you to tell me and I want to know. It's just… harder than I thought."

"S'ok Lexi. If it makes you feel any better, I was worried about you too. Which was weird. I was worried and angry at the same time and I couldn't figure out why. Half of me was almost glad you were going to leave me. And half of me was petrified that the leaving wouldn't be your choice… which is… well-- it's kind of what happened in the end right?"

I can only nod. But I'm relieved to hear you were worried too.

"You went off half-cocked after Zapata, even after everybody told you not to. And I know I didn't help, and neither did Elliot. We were so pissed at the Feds for standing in our way that we were willing to do almost anything to get justice for Lydia. But when we figured out what you were up against, I couldn't help but be angry at your determination. When you came home those first few nights you were so worked up. You wouldn't stop pacing, doing that -- floor point-- thing that you do. You started trying to distract yourself by trying to make me talk about my life. I thought you'd given up your fishing expeditions after the first time you came back. I couldn't understand why you all of a sudden needed to get me talking."

I remember those nights all too well. Our fights are part of the string of nightmares that make up the week before the Feds whisked me away. Sometimes I'll dream that I'm fighting against Zapata, wrestling with him, he'll have me on the ground, a gun to my head and suddenly his voice turns into yours, telling me to back off, to leave you alone. I can't help but shudder, thinking about the first time I woke up in a sweat, still picturing your voice coming from Zapata's angry face.

"That first night, you were finally calming down. You seemed tired, and worried, and frustrated and I understood all of those things, because I was feeling them too. You came over to the bed where I was reading and sat down with your back to me. You tipped backwards and leaned into me and asked if I'd rub your back, remember?"

I remember. I know where you're going with this and I can't help but feel contrite.

"I put down my book--which I never did finish by the way-- and started giving you a back massage, rubbing your neck and trying to work out the kinks you'd put there by pacing around the living room with your head down. Everything was going fine, and then you started in. Sucker-punched me when I was finally starting to get comfortable… thinking maybe if I got you relaxed enough I could talk you out of prosecuting the case, or at least get laid."

You have the decency to blush at that admission, which is good for you-- because otherwise I'd have been tempted to smack you. Despite the serious nature of our conversation, I can still feel your hands rubbing my neck, kneading my shoulders and smoothing the muscles in my back. I remember getting lost in that feeling, enjoying the sense of your tan hands against the white of my skin. But I couldn't just leave it. I couldn't just enjoy the moment.

Truth is that particular fight is as much my fault as yours.But we're not talking about that fight right now. There's plenty of time for that later.

_Olivia_

I'm not sure how we got off track, but I'm not ready to go into the rest of that last week yet. I need more time to collect my thoughts before I can explain myself to you properly. I know we need to talk about it, that it's going to have to get put to rest before you… what, leave again?

For the first time since you appeared yesterday night I remember that this is just a visit, and not a permanent thing. ouch 'Stay focused Liv. Confession time.'

"Look, we're… getting ahead of ourselves. Let's leave that for later. For now I need to tell you this. About after Don dropped me off that night. Anyway… you'd left and everywhere I looked around the apartment there were these-- empty places where you should be. I hated the way my place looked without you. I rattled around for a few hours, upset because I didn't realize how hard it was to sleep without you next to me. I lay down for awhile, on your side of the bed. Did you know you left your slippers? I saw them when I finally gave up on trying to sleep. I walked around in them for awhile, but I just couldn't seem to relax.

"I tucked my belt holster on and grabbed my jacket on the way out the door. I walked around the city for awhile. Watching the night get darker for awhile, then watching it get lighter, I just couldn't shake how good it felt to have the scotch glass in my hand. I stopped in at a liquor store and bought a bottle to take back home. I got back to the apartment just in time to change my clothes and grab the clip case for my badge. By the time my shift was halfway over I could almost taste the scotch. You were being so stubborn, wouldn't listen to anybody, Don, Elliot, Branch… me. We had Zapata in custody and you were starting to get ready to go for his balls, the way you always do in court. I was frustrated because I couldn't talk to you away from everyone without seeming desperate, or without telling you I loved you, and you know I couldn't do that.

"By the time my day was over I was exhausted. I took the subway but got off a few stops before the apartment. I went into my former favorite liquor store and bought a bottle of vodka. It was almost easy. Handed over my money and got a brown paper bag full of my favorite mistake. I took it home and set it on the table, next to the bottle of scotch. I took turns picking them up and holding their weight in my hand, remembering what Don had said. Trying to believe him. Wishing you were here to help convince me.

"I almost called you. I knew you'd be at your apartment, bent over your desk reading reports trying to start prepping for motions and challenges and arguments. But I also knew that unless I could tell you something specific you'd probably have hung up on me."

"You could have called anyway, Liv. I always wanted to help you when you were hurting, even when I was angry with you. Even when we weren't dating. That was the whole point, for you to talk to me about these things."

I can see you starting to get worked up about the same time I notice that I've been sitting on my legs for about 2 hours, and I'm starting to really lose some feeling. You look uncomfortable too and without speaking we decide to get more comfortable. You follow me into the bedroom and keep talking as we change into comfortable clothes and crawl under the covers. We face each other, laying on our sides, in an almost perfect copy of the way we woke up more than 14 hours ago. The bedside alarm reads 8:30pm, but it feels much later, both of us worn out from all this discussion. Which is fine because I'm almost done confessing.

Even though you look beautiful, the way your hair frames your face, a blonde shock of it over your shoulder, covering the front of your neck until I brush it back behind you, there's nothing sexual about this moment, and I'm actually pretty ok with that right now. At least until I'm really finished.

_Alex_

By the time we're lying across from each other you've told me about all the bottles... about what they meant to you, and I wish I hadn't given up so soon. Or at least wishing I'd gone home with you the night Donovan died.

I finally get my chance to respond to your confession as you brush the hair away from my neck and over my shoulder,

"I'm not angry about the bottles, Olivia. I can understand why you bought them… and I'm so proud that you didn't open them. I'm sorry that my leaving made you feel like you needed to drink again."

"I never stopped feeling like I needed to drink Alex. That wasn't the point. Or maybe it **was**, or rather **is** the point, I don't know. It's just that when you called and said you were coming back it was the first thing I did. I gathered up all those bottles and dumped them down the sink, just like I did with the bottles after you left the first time. It was easier this time though, cause I knew you were coming back, and I was ready to keep you this time."

"Livvy…"

"I know, Alex, I know. It's not for good."

"Not yet."

I lean in to kiss the top of your head and settle in closer to you. Suddenly the innocence of our pose shifts, and I can see from the way you're looking at me that those bottles are out of your mind once and for all.


	21. Intimate

**Chapter Twenty-One: Intimate**

_Olivia_

I wasn't planning on this. The change from innocent to romantic is instant, and unexpected. You kiss the top of my head, almost as if I'm a child, and then you settle into the bed, into my body, your head so close to mine that our noses are almost touching. This is a different kind of start than last night. We don't feel the same urgency that we did yesterday, and while there is a palpable sense of passion as I tilt my head to kiss you, for some reason I feel as though this is a sacred moment, somehow this is more intimate than before, more important.

Our movements are slower, but there's no teasing intended in our speed, only gentleness. For a moment I'm reminded of our first time together, but somehow that too, is different.

We haven't shifted our positions, still head to head, breast-to-breast, toe to toe-- well, close anyway. Our kisses are soft, quietly permissive. There is no probing, no forcing, no wrestling of our tongues. Only the quiet flutter as we find each other behind our lips. Our hands are bound together, fingers alternating: yours. mine. yours. mine. yours. Our palms are pressed together, and I can feel you slowly wiggling your fingers, occasionally tucking your thumb between us to stroke my palm, tracing my love line, life line… both of them belonging solely to you. Your skin is soft against mine, but I want to be closer to you, closer to your body, closer to your heart. I pull away from you to take off my clothes, and you follow my lead.

The shedding of our clothes is no strip tease, but there's also no rabid urgency like before. It's just a means of drawing closer to each other. A way to satisfy the need to be near you. We settle back into the bed, resuming our previous position, kissing delicately, lovingly, without any need to hurry.

My hand lazily travels the length of your body, finding the tender flesh of the back of your knee, traveling back up and tracing the feminine line of your neck, then cupping the base of your head, my fingers weaving through your hair. I bring my hand down, smelling my own shampoo on your locks, and it's this blending of our routines that first makes me conscious of my wetness.

Even my arousal doesn't inspire me to increase the pace of our time here. There is nothing pressing about this time. Tonight, I don't want to taste you. Tonight, I don't want you to make me come.

Tonight, "I want to love you."

_Alex_

You whisper the words against my lips, and it takes a moment for me to understand what you've said. The sudden breath of your speech is ticklish against my tongue, and I realize for the first time since we've settled naked into each other, that I'm genuinely aroused. Not by the kisses, or by the touch of your nakedness next to me. And although the feel of your hand tracing my contours sent gentle shivers down my spine, it's this moment, this closeness to you, completely unrelated to your physical proximity that's made me notice the wetness that's appeared between my thighs.

Your lips continue to brush against mine, barely making contact, our breath mingling softly, tongues caressing each other slowly, gently… like everything else our kisses are tender, altered somehow from our usual heady passion. My hand rests on the side of your breast, my fingers curled slightly, touching your side where your back meets your front, my fingers straddling the distance, my thumb the only part of my hand that has contact with your perfect soft breast. Because of our closeness, my breasts nestle up against yours, my white roundness against your brown, and I'm struck by the beauty of our contrast.

Your hand is moving again, finding that spot in the small of my back where I love to feel you resting. You pull the lower half of me towards you, closer still, and as I shift to allow one of your legs between mine, I quiver at the sensation of your skin sliding delicately against mine, amazed at the tenderness possessed in such a muscular physique. Your knee grazes my sex and I can't help sighing against your lips. The intimacy with which you've replaced your usual frantic passion is erotic in a way I hadn't expected. This is what I've wanted all along.

It's not that I didn't enjoy sleeping with you before. Our sex-life was always full of passion, and yes even love. And on the occasions when we felt driven by the urgency of our desires, I loved the feeling of fucking you. But as I've always suspected it would be-- this slow, constant, almost fragile feeling of our lovemaking tonight is more beautiful than anything I've ever felt before. Still feeling no real sense of urgency, but wanting to be even closer to you, I lean to whisper in your ear,

"please… Livvy, I need you."

_Olivia_

Two years ago, one year ago, even last night the breathy whisper of your plea in my ear would have made me pull away from you, sinking brusquely between your legs, delving my tongue, my fingers inside of you. But tonight is not last night, or one year ago, or two years ago. Things have changed between us now. And although I'm sure that someday we'll find ourselves fucking again in a fit of raw passion, I'm enjoying the sensation of taking my time, making my way slowly down the length of you, tickling your skin with kisses everywhere as I shift in the bed. The idea of my body hanging off the edge as I suckle you hurts me tonight, and as I trace the outer curve of your breast with the tip of my tongue, I shift in the bed, until I can feel you placing the softest of kisses on my thighs. I mimic your motions, kissing my way slowly up your thigh, until I can feel your wetness tickling at my lips. With one hand tucked under your leg, my elbow bent so that I'm almost clutching you to me, I gently stroke the back of your knee, and you know I'm ready for you.

_Alex_

The feeling of your lips on my thigh is intoxicating. I feel your fingers brush the skin behind my knee, and I know you're ready for me now. I try not to buck at the sensation of being entered by you as I lick your slit slowly, trying to anticipate the things you'll do to me, so I can follow you, so we can synchronize this intimacy, so we can make love in time, matching our motions, the push and pull of our tongues, the stroking of our fingers. We find a delicate rhythm, and as I pull out of you, you press into me, and as you slip from inside me, I enter you. My head rests on your thigh, our bodies still positioned on our sides, which is awkward but not uncomfortable. I can feel the weight of your head on my thigh at the other end of the bed and the sense of enveloping you and of being enveloped by you is heady, making me feel drunk as I continue to use my tongue inside of you, reaching all the places where I know you're most sensitive… not trying to make you come, just trying to make you happy. Trying to make you feel the way I do.

_Olivia_

As aroused as I know we both are, I feel as though we could do this all night. As if this new slowness, this new delicacy could continue until we both fade out from exhaustion. But I know that when I fall asleep, I want to be facing you again, tasting myself on your lips, as you taste yourself on mine…. and for that reason only I begin to increase the speed and pressure of my tongue and fingers. For the first time tonight, I reach to touch your swollen clit, feeling you jump at the contact, then jumping as you copy my motions, using my initiative on my own sensitive clit.

_Alex_

The suddenness of your touch on my clit is electric, and as soon as my body is done leaping I mimic you, knowing that you must be as tired as I am… knowing that like me, you want to fall asleep face to face, mouth to mouth, breast to breast. I pick up the pace of my tasting too, increasing the force of my fingers entry and exit by stages. It doesn't take much force to start our orgasm. Somewhere along the push and pull of our hands and lips and tongues we come together, clutching each others legs, our arms wrapped around each other, the cool, slick feeling of our skin together adding to the intensity.

When you finally climb back up to greet me your lips are wet with me, and my tongue still carries the taste of you as we kiss sleepily, almost sloppily. We settle into our pillows, heads tilted towards each other, our foreheads touching.

"Have I mentioned that I love you?"

"Yes, but you don't need to say it, Livvy… I already know."

I watch as your eyelids droop, a smile playing on your lips as you fall asleep in my arms. I reach for the covers with my free hand, making sure to leave a little extra on your side… hoping maybe the exhaustion of our intimacy will make my sleep less active, and maybe in the morning, you'll still be warm.

I whisper into the air between us, not caring that you won't hear me in your sleep,

"Detective Olivia Benson, I will never doubt that you love me."

_Olivia_

I was almost asleep, walking the edge between unconsciousness and awareness. And in my last moments of awareness I can't help but respond to you,

"Good, because I always will."


	22. Our Time

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Our Time**

_Olivia_

As I drift to sleep in your arms, cradled warmly by both the cover of your skin, and the soft heaviness of the down comforter you bought me all those years ago, I can remember times when things felt right between us. For all of our arguments and leavings, our pains and frustrations, we did have times in our relationship where things were mostly right between us.

And for almost a year we lived in peace, barely fighting, making love often and happily, meeting together after the job to discuss cases, and to fall asleep in each others arms as you told me stories about your life. Without the alcohol in my life, I had more room for you.

After you left me that first time, and I worked so hard, cleaning myself up and pulling it together, I was determined to get you back. Once the drinking was out of my system I could hardly stand to be without you at night. Your side of my bed was empty, and I couldn't stand the whiteness of my walls, the chill of my wood floor without your body in its space. We started up again slowly, taking it one phone call at a time, one meeting at a time. When I saw you at work I made a point to talk to you, to find out if you were doing all right, to ask about your caseload, taking extra care to make sure you knew I was trying to make your job easier for you. I thought not drinking would be enough to bring you back, and it was for a while.

I never actually told you I'd quit drinking, just like I never actually told you that I loved you. Just like I never actually told you about how I grew up. Just like I never actually told you about my time at the academy, or about anything else in my life other than the cases we were dealing with at the time. As with everything else, I just assumed you knew. I didn't get that that wasn't enough. Not until after we found the blood in Zapata's mattress on the boat-- when you'd finally had enough; enough of the job, enough of my pointless rehashing of the case, enough of my inability to really talk to you. Not until you'd had enough of me, of us. And even then I didn't understand until I watched a black SUV take the choice out of our hands, drawing you away from me, leaving me standing with Elliot, my mouth open, unable to stop my tears.

_Alex_

Watching you sleeping in my arms was always one of my favorite things. You're always so strong, so solid to me. You used to joke about how it was your job to be my hero, and in a lot of ways you always were. But when you're sleeping here beside me, curled up with your head on my left arm, my right arm slung over your side, rubbing your back, you look so delicate. I can remember all those nights in our good year when I'd try to stay awake until you'd fallen asleep, wanting to drift off with the sight of a child-like you clinging to me in your dreams. I always wanted to be there for you, to protect you in your sleep the way I knew I could never protect you in your waking.

How many nightmares did I soothe? How many times did your grunts and muted screams wake me at 2am, the sweat pouring off your body, as your eyes twitched behind their lids in some terror I couldn't see? How many times did I place my hand on your cheek, stroke your forehead, your hair, your chin, easing you back into a more peaceful state? How many times did I save your dreams?

You fought hard to win me back after I left you hung-over in your apartment, staring at the broken window and wondering how to get your life back together. As angry as I was, it was hard to drop my key behind me, hard to know that I had to do it to make you see that I wouldn't stick around forever. And even though your drinking really was a problem, I didn't realize until later that it was your unwillingness to talk to me about it that really upset me then-- the way your unwillingness to talk about other things upset me later.

Two months after I left you we'd achieved an uneasy simpatico, unable to ignore our attraction, but not ready to revisit the failure that was us… together. You showed up at my office late one night with flowers. I was working on a nasty deposition and wondering if I'd ever be able to sleep after a day of talking to a particularly sleazy defendant. When you knocked I thought it was going to be Liz on the other side of the door, pestering me about the file I owed her, and wanting to know what exactly I intended to do about the new case. I was so relieved to see your short crop of hair peek around my door that I forgot for a moment that there was any discomfort between us.

"Hey. I saw Donnelly on her way out and she said that if she doesn't have that file on her desk in the morning when she gets back… what did she say… oh yeah, 'Tell Cabot that if that file isn't on my desk in the morning, complete with an explanation of her intentions, she'll be lucky if she can get an internship with Trevor Langan's mail-boy!'"

I groaned. Liz knew how it annoyed me when she threatened my career choices with a reminder of where I started out. My time at the Langan's firm was stressful, as Trevor was his father's golden boy who could do no wrong. Because we'd gone to law school together, Mr. Langan let his son have the duty of assigning my tasks each day, I suppose because he thought Trevor would know my strengths. The little shit never missed an opportunity to lord his supremacy over me. It accounts for a lot of the hostility we feel towards each other in general, thought not all of it.

"What did you do to piss of Liz?"

"Which time?" It's hard to pinpoint a moment this month when Liz hasn't been on my ass. The truth is I'm sloppy without you in my life, because I spend all my time wondering how you are, instead of putting extra effort into trying my cases properly.

"I, uh, I brought you these." You hand me flowers that you've pulled from behind your back, and I can't help but wonder what Liz thought of you walking towards my office carrying irises. As usual, you read my mind,

"I told her they were left over from a date. I figured it was close to the truth."

"Since when are we dating again?"

"Alex." Your tone is disapproving, and I answer you similarly,

"Olivia." There's a pause…

"I miss you."

"I'm sorry." I was. I didn't like to think of you feeling alone.

"Look, just… come to dinner with me. We won't even call it a date, we'll just call it…"

"'Dinner?' We've done that before Detective. Somehow we always end up in bed afterwards."

"Not always." You sound petulant.

I sigh, then acquiesce, "I will go to dinner with you on two conditions,"

"Anything," you lean in to hear my stipulations.

"It has to be Italian, and you can't order any wine."

I'm surprised at the pleased look on your face as you respond, "No problem counselor. Just you, me, some irises and the best Italian food in the city."

I didn't go back to your place that night, and I slept alone in my own bed at the loft. But it wasn't long before one dinner turned into two, and then three, and then five, and suddenly we were going out or cooking for each other every night. And while I didn't believe you'd stopped drinking completely, I could tell that at the very least, you'd stopped drinking all the time, and that was enough for me.

You never did say you were sorry. And until today we never talked about the broken window.

_Olivia_

You didn't move back in right away. And I tried to be more open, which was a little easier with the alcohol out of my life, but I was never able to talk to you the way you could to me. I was too used to getting hurt, too used to getting left behind. By the time you did take back your key, I'd found what seemed to be a good balance of admission and omission about my life, and we found a sort of awkward harmony about our life together. You stopped trying to draw me out all the time, and I stopped pretending I didn't care about certain things.

We were together almost without interruption in the year before you took on Zapata. And even though we still fought about the areas of my life that were closed to everyone, even you, it was a beautiful kind of existence, knowing that you'd be by my side when I woke up in the morning. Every day-break I stared at your sleeping face, framed by blonde locks, amazed at how I could possibly love one person so much.

That was the year we moved most of the things from your loft into my apartment, our styles coming together… not quite seamlessly, but with a sort of eclectic grace. In that year you convinced me to paint the living room and bathroom, you bought me a TV and DVD player, and you conned me into letting you paint my bedroom lilac. My fifth floor walk up was warm and full with you in it. And it was as much fun to come home to it together as it was to beat you there and fill the rooms with the smell of fresh-cooked food, waiting to greet you in nothing but a black Williams-Sonoma apron and a smile.

We picked out a sofa, chair and loveseat to replace my dime-store recliner and mismatched armchairs, and you rearranged the bedroom furniture about 15 times. I got used to the feel of you in my apartment, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I had a place that felt like home.

After you died I used to get up in the middle of the night and smell the living room curtains, letting the memory of you wash over me in the darkness. Sometimes I'd wake up for work to discover I'd fallen asleep on the rug in front of the television, hoping to pick up some trace of your snow-white toes padding around an apartment where you couldn't be anymore.

_Alex_

By the time I started to feel like I needed more from you than I was getting, we'd been living together for a year and then some. I still kept my loft downtown, fully furnished but lacking it's former charm, as most of my more decorative possessions were decorating our apartment here. On occasions when I had a particularly complicated case to try it was the perfect place to get away and plan my strategies without the distraction of your body floating around the apartment cooking, or waiting for me in bed. I always ended up catching a cab back at the end of the night though, unable to sleep without you by my side. Sometimes if it took too long you'd show up at my door, holding your pillow and a bag with your badge, gun, and change of clothes.

The night we had our last fight we were at your place… our place. Your place. We'd been arguing for awhile and I'd started thinking of it as yours again. I suppose subconsciously I was trying to prepare myself for the leave I didn't want to admit was coming. I'd been spending more time at the loft, telling you that the cases we were handling were more complicated than usual, telling you that Liz was on my ass, that Branch was out for blood. They weren't lies exactly, but they weren't the truth either, and strangely I didn't feel that bad for my own omissions, since you had more than your fair share of your own. I regret them now. Or rather, I regret the timing of it all. Because we needed each other more in that last two weeks than ever before and neither of us could find a way to express it properly. For the first time in our relationship I found myself as tongue-tied as you always were.


	23. Sunday

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Sunday**

_Olivia_

We slept later on Sunday morning than we did on Saturday. Maybe because we both knew we'd need the extra energy to talk about those last two weeks. For once you woke before I did, and this time I decide to join you when I hear the shower running in the other room.

We greet each other almost gingerly, having not entirely lost the tenderness of last night's ecstasy, and knowing that today may be even harder than yesterday was. Watching the water cascade over your arms and legs, I can see that you've gained a little weight in the last two years. It's nothing anyone else would notice, but I like the sight of your bones being fleshed out a little… it gives me something to hold on to as I lick the water that mixes with your juices while I taste the juncture where your legs come together, below slightly thicker hips, and above minutely more muscular thighs. Your hands rinse water through my hair as I feel your walls clutching at my fingers inside of you, my tongue playing with the water as it falls around your clit. You massage my scalp, and then pull me up for a kiss before turning me around so you can wash my hair, then rinse and condition it before stroking my breasts and hips and butt with a soft terry washcloth. Your arms stretch around to my front, softly washing that place where only you can be. The water and soap makes our contact slippery, but sensual, and I can't help but fall in love with the feel of your wet breasts pushing up against my back, of your hair falling wet against my shoulder as you touch me through the washcloth's softness.

When we've both been cleaned… for the second time, you turn off the water and pull the oversized towel off the rack, wrapping it around both of us, as we stand facing each other, dripping wet, but warm together. Back in the bedroom we dress in more comfortable clothes, mindful of the button marks and belt indents we found after falling asleep awkwardly in our clothes yesterday afternoon. This time we sit together on the couch, and I lean against the armrest with my legs spread out in front of me, inviting you to crawl into the v of my thighs. You lean back so that your head rests tipped up towards mine on my shoulder. With my right hand brushing the back of the sofa, I play with your fingers as my left hand strokes absentmindedly at your hair.

"How do you want to do this?" I ask quietly, knowing we can't put off those last two weeks any longer.

"I don't know Olivia." Your voice is equally soft, and tinged with the barest trace of hurt, as you remember our final fights in the days before you were taken from me. "You already know how I felt about it all, because I told you."

"I know. But… I don't know where to start Alex. There are so many mistakes to explain, how do I pick the one that started them all? **Can** I pick one that started them all?"

"How about the night when Zapata came at me in the interview room?"

I sigh, somehow I knew it would come to this moment. I tilt my head down towards yours and kiss you before taking a deep breath and focusing on the yellows and whites and silvers that stare at me from the kitchen across the way.

_Alex_

I wanted to start with Zapata. Maybe because he's the reason we're here, and maybe because his was the case that inspired our final fight, the one that kept me from staying with you when I should have. Your sigh is full of pain, and I can almost taste the salt of your coming tears as you lean in to kiss me before you begin,

"I never knew what the word love meant. It didn't make any sense to me growing up, the idea that you could love your parents. The idea that they could love you was even more far-fetched, and the thought of loving another person was just a fairy tale… something that normal kids believed because its what their mothers told them to believe. My mother never told me what to believe about anything. Except about my father that is. About him I was to believe the very worst, and I still do… although now its because I really understand what he did to her… to us. But back then I believed he was the devil just because it's what mom told me. I didn't even hear the word rape until I was nine years old."

"The vase?" I can still remember the look in your eyes when you told me the story for the first time. I could almost see a 9-year-old Olivia sitting at the table trying to glue porcelain back together as her mom screamed at her about being the product of rape.

"The vase." You pause, breathing deeply to postpone your tears. "I had to look it up in the dictionary… rape. Do you know what it says? 'The crime of forcing another person to submit to sex acts, _especially_ sexual intercourse.' Of course then I had to look up sexual intercourse, but I thought it was funny, even at nine years old, that the definition of the word didn't assume actual sex. 'Sex acts.' I didn't understand it really meant anyway, but it seemed weird to me. I wondered what kind of acts you had to do to make a kid that nobody wanted."

A few tears escape your eyes and one falls onto my face, rolling down my own cheek and for a minute I'm swept away by the intimate feeling of this sensation: as if my eyes are crying your tears.

You draw a ragged breath, composing yourself, and leaning to brush your second tear from my cheek, your hand shaking almost imperceptibly as your finger slides up from the base of my cheek, gathering back your saltiness before you continue.

"When you came home that night, and told me about Zapata's explosion in the interview room I was terrified. Even though we didn't know the entire scope of his organization, I could tell this case was going to be different. Do you remember me begging you to give it to Donnelly? I wanted to nail Zapata, but I wanted anyone but you in the line of fire. I didn't know how bad it was going to get, or how horrifically it would turn out but I knew I didn't want you fighting this one. Even at the beginning. It was one thing for me to go after someone like that, I'm the one with the badge and the gun. I knew I could hold my own if I had to. But watching you cry that night, clinging to my jacket because you didn't give me a chance to get changed before you grabbed me, I couldn't stand the thought of losing you.

"I wanted to tell you so badly. Wanted to pick you up and carry you to the bed and hold you all night, telling you how much I loved you, and how scared I was for you… for us. But I couldn't. Because deep down I still wasn't willing to admit to something I couldn't define. I didn't understand what it meant to love **anyone**, and I couldn't just throw it out there, even when I knew how much you needed to hear me say it.

"When you get right down to it, I couldn't lie to you. And because I didn't understand what love meant, the word felt like a lie to me. And I swore when I quit drinking that I wouldn't do that to you again. I wouldn't lie."

_I'm_ crying now because listening to you this way is both a pain and a relief, and my emotions stir together until I can't recognize them any more. This is what I needed you to say that night. These are the confessions that I longed for during those two weeks. I didn't need to hear you say I love you, so much as I needed to know why you couldn't. Hearing you talk like this is a release to me, and I try to stay focused on your words as I lie crying in your arms, your fingers stroking the skin under my chin, the palm of your hand catching my tears as they fall.

_Olivia_

I feel your shoulders start shuddering against my chest, feel tears falling from your chin onto my shoulder, and I wonder what you think of everything I've told you. You feel heavy, and tired leaning deeply against my body, and I can't help but start to cry as I catch your tears in my hand, cupped under your chin.

"Do you want to stop?" I don't want you to think I don't care about your tears, but part of me wants to keep the forward momentum, keep going. I've discovered a taste for confession and I'm desperate to finish, to get to the part where you forgive me.

I feel your head shake on my shoulder, and I look down at you in the crook of my neck, eyes closed, cheeks soaked with tears that you've given up trying to stop. I kiss your forehead, then continue.

By the time I'm done, you've stopped crying… then started again, then stopped, and then started. We've cried together, and separately. Our hands have held onto one-another, and they've lain silent and separate. You've cut in my monologue with questions, and I've answered every one, not feeling the resentment at being quizzed that I once did. It's early evening when we finish, and for a while we stay silent, your body wrapped up in mine. Somewhere towards the end you've shifted on me, and you lie on your side, your head still on my shoulder, but turned towards mine, looking at my profile. In this position I feel as though I'm cradling a child, and the image causes fresh tears to fall from my eyes, trailing down my cheek and off my chin, where they mix with yours.

Last night I would have said that I couldn't possibly have felt closer to you than I did after yesterday, but I was wrong. You know everything now. At least everything about those last two weeks. There is still more to tell you about my life, about growing up, about the time before you were mine, but those stories can wait… and we both know it won't be as difficult for me to tell them when it's time. For now we surrender to our tears, huddling together, arms clutched awkwardly around each other, crying together, holding each other up.

_Alex_

You feel strong around me, but soft too as I let my tears take over for the last time. We have time to talk about other things later, but for now I know-- finally, what was going on in your head those last two weeks. It doesn't make what happened less painful, but somehow it makes the pain less pervasive. It also reminds me that I made my own share of mistakes that week, mistakes that cost us everything… for a while. I should have looked past my anger, found a way to tell you how frightened I was instead of convincing everyone that I was ok, convincing everyone that my first concern was justice for Lydia. The night we heard the tape, the one with my address, with my mother's address… I could hardly breathe. You immediately offered to drive me home, and I let you, because I knew Elliot would be along, and we wouldn't have to fight through my fears alone.

When you pulled me aside, asked me to stay with you… you'll never know how badly I wanted to say yes. Maybe someday I'll tell you, about how my whole body quaked with the thought of being safe in your arms. But I'm as stubborn as you are, and I let my anger answer instead of my fear. Even after the bomb, after Donovan had been wiped from the world, in my shock and revulsion and terror… I couldn't put it all behind me. I let you take me home… and then I made you leave.

Your words come back to me,

_"That's why I was so upset about your attitude towards the case… not just because I was worried about you, but because the moment it started I could see you were going to leave me. I guess I wanted to force you out before someone took the choice out of our hands. I think deep down I thought that if I drove you away it would hurt less when something happened."_

"Did it?" It was the last question I asked you tonight, before we released ourselves to each other's arms

"No." Your voice started to break. "No, it made it all that much worse, because when he… when they… when you got shot I died, Alex. I kept kneeling over you, trying to hold your blood back, trying to push it back in, watching it seep through my fingers, watching your eyes glaze over, and the only thing I can remember thinking is how much I wished I just told you that I loved you."

"Me too."

That's when your tears started rolling down, joining mine as they fell from my chin and onto my chest and your shoulder, neither of us caring anymore to try and wipe them away, not willing to let go of the clinging hold we have on each other.

Through your tears you're whispering to me, "i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you," until I disentangle one of my hands, and use it to draw your head down to mine, tasting our tears on your lips, and answering you in a breath against your mouth,

"I know…"


	24. Shot

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Shot**

_Olivia_

When we've both run out of tears, and for the first time notice something other than each other, neither of us has the strength to get up and cook. And as much as I'd like to get cleaned up and take you out to dinner, maybe to the little Italian place we went to when you came back the first time… I know it's not wise to risk letting people see you before Hammond gives us an all-clear.

Instead we order from our favorite Chinese place, and I wash my face, and yours over the kitchen sink, rinsing away all the stiffness left by our tears. We sit on the couch waiting for the food, talking vaguely about what you've been doing since you left. When you get to the part about arriving in Oregon, Won's has arrived with our oversized bag of food, and we settle at the kitchen table, the food spread out between us in their little cardboard boxes. We both know we want to keep the conversation light from here on out, and your new life seems to be a relatively stress-free conversation… at least in comparison to the last two days.

"So Oregon huh? Isn't that a little… I don't know-- hick-tastic?"

You laugh, and I love watching the smile spread across your face, "At first. It was like another world. But Liv, if you could have seen some of the little Po-Dunk towns we stopped in on the way. Every time Hammond handed me the key to a new house or apartment I cringed. In a couple of those places I could have been killed for loving you! Or worse, arrested!"

Now I'm laughing, thinking that your priorities might be a little off from all that time in the legal world. "What exactly does a red-headed ex ADA do in Oregon anyway?"

"Red-headed? How do you know they gave me red hair?"

"Your streaks, babe… I noticed them the other day, and again this morning in the shower." You lift your hand to your head, running your fingers through your hair, pushing it away from your face.

"Ugh. I hated that color Liv. Do you know they gave me green contacts? Green! Hammond said that the only way he could make me really unrecognizable was to give me a **completely** different look, that he was thinking something Irish."

I can imagine how much you _loved_ that idea. I tried to get you to dye your hair red once and I thought you were going to kill me. For some reason you loved the look of red on me, but wouldn't even entertain the idea of matching it.

I listen to you talk about settling in, about decorating your new house, trying to make friends and get used to hearing a new name. You tell me about all the times you wanted to kill Hammond, about calling him a fascist… repeatedly, about waking up every day feeling like everything was new and odd and not wanting to get used to it.

You shake your head then grab the last piece of orange chicken with your chopsticks. I gave up trying to mimic your control with chopsticks a long time ago, and I stab at the last piece of stir-fry broccoli with a single stick, garnering a look of vague disapproval from your steel-blue eyes. I snap the broccoli off my spear and into my mouth, chewing rebelliously at you across the table.

You push away your plate, and get up to take our dishes to the sink, then gathering up the now empty Chinese cartons and dumping them in the trash.

"I can see you're no more civilized than you were when I left," you come up behind my chair and lean over my shoulder, your hair brushing against my cheek as you look at me, "What **am** I going to do with you?"

I have a few ideas…

_Alex_

After dinner we make our way back to the bedroom, and I can't help but feel my spirit lighten after such an intense day. Tomorrow things will acquire a distinct complication, as I know Hammond well enough to know he'll insist I spend the week in the FBI-paid for hotel room. I can't help but cringe at the thought of having to deal with Hammond again and you stop kissing me for a minute to look at my face…

"What's wrong?" You look concerned, and I remind myself that a kiss is probably not the best time to go about making funny faces,

"Nothing, sorry… I was thinking about Hammond, and tomorrow."

"Hammond, huh? You know, if it'd help I'd be happy to stand around and look disapproving while telling you what you were expected to do with your life, but I'd rather you were thinking about me while we're making love."

I can't help but laugh at the thought of you pretending to be our favorite federal agent, and the look you give me is an almost perfect imitation of his. "God no, it was just a fleeting thought about this week. I'd rather think about you too," and to reassure you I lean down to nip at the curve of your neck, trailing kisses up and around the edge of your jaw line, "Convinced?"

In response you pull off my tank top and lead my hands to the edge of your shirt. I don't waste my time helping you out of your clothes and as you drop my sweatpants and underwear to the floor we fall into bed together. In your hands, tomorrow is a million hours away, and Hammond is banished from even the deepest recesses of my mind as you kiss me.

_Olivia_

For a second I'm concerned that you're thinking about a federal agent when I'm trying to get you into bed, but I can understand that you're worried about this week. In all honesty I am too, because I'm not sure exactly what's going to happen when it's all over, and I have to keep reminding myself not to scare myself into losing you again.

Banning my worries from my mind I focus back on you and before I know it, we've tumbled into bed, giggling against each other's lips. Like last night, our lovemaking is tinged with a feeling of newness, and I can only assume that our new emotional intimacy is going to continue to carry-over in all the aspects of our life together, that eventually I'll get used to the intensity of this nearness.

I pull away for a moment, staring at you beneath me in the bed, wanting to memorize every tuck and curve of your body, the way your eyes come to life when you look at me, the delicate pink of your mouth, and the texture of your tongue as you run it along your bottom lip. I trace lines along your body, using my fingers to commit you to my memory. When I reach your right shoulder, I notice for the first time the faintest of scars from where the bullet crashed into you, the faintest of scars to commemorate the real loss of you. I'm overcome by the memory of kneeling over you the way I am now, the memory of kneeling over you on the street, staring at your blood leaking through my fingers. I touch a finger to your scar, and I see a tear slide from your cheek. In all of our talking, we haven't had a chance for you to tell me what it was like, what you were feeling, watching your own life slip away. I lean in to kiss the perfect round mark, then fall into you gently, laying half on top of you the way you laid on top of me our first morning back together, was it only one day ago? For the moment, the idea of sex is lost from both of us, and I know I can't stop the question from appearing between us,

"What was it like… for you?"

Another tear slides from your eyes, and I can see them welling up, as your chin quivers. You turn your head on the pillow to look at my face while you speak.

"Mostly? Mostly I just remember the pop. I remember the sound of gunshots, and wondering what was going on. I couldn't figure out why all of a sudden I was looking at the sky. I remember thinking that it was the kind of night the old us would have gone for a walk in.

"And then you were there, kneeling above me like some kind of… angel in a leather coat, and I thought, 'why is Livvy crying?' I didn't understand that I'd been shot. I kept trying to raise my arm to touch your hair, to brush it out of your face. But I couldn't make it move. And then your hands were on my shoulder and it hurt, having you pushing against me, pinning me down."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to hurt you, I was…"

You hurry to interrupt, "I know. I know. But when I felt the pain, I started to realize what happened. And then I sort of thought it was ironic that I'd been shot, when I was always so worried about it happening to you. I heard you talking to me, saying my name over and over again. I heard you calling me sweetheart and I wondered what Elliot thought about that."

I don't bother to tell you that Elliot was chasing after the car when I said it. It doesn't matter… and this is your part of the story to tell anyway.

_Alex_

The feel of your finger on my scar breaks through the serenity of our foreplay, and I can't stop a tear thinking about the last time you put your hands on my shoulder like this. I know the question is coming, and as much as I want to forget that it is, as much as I want to pretend it isn't, to go back to making love, I know I'd feel like a hypocrite if I try to brush it off tonight. You've been so compliant about answering all of mine, and we both knew that this was coming.

"What was it like… for you?"

I sigh, and I can feel another tear sliding down my cheek while I search for the right words. Mostly I remember gunshots, and being on the sidewalk, looking up at you. I remember pain at the touch of your hands on my shoulder, wondering why it hurt so much.

"I heard you calling me sweetheart and I wondered what Elliot thought about that. And then when I realized that you'd really called me that, I wanted to say something to you, I tried to open my mouth to tell you I forgave you but I couldn't make that work either. And then for awhile everything just went black, and I dreamed about you flying around me in an angel costume. You kept saying, 'no no no no no,' and I kept saying, 'yes yes yes yes yes' because in my dream I thought we were still fighting."

I know now that the no's were part of your chorus… as you tried to keep me awake, tried to keep me alive, to keep me from slipping away from you.

"I couldn't understand how you could be an angel because I thought I was the one that was dying. And then I thought that I didn't want to die, that I wasn't ready. I kept telling the angel-you that you had to let me go back, because I had some things to sort out first. I kept trying to argue with her, using old cases as backup, trying to legal-speak my way back to you. And the angel-you just kept flying around, swooping down and taking my glasses, then swooping to give them back with a kiss on my nose.

"At some point the angel-you swooped down and put one hand on either side of my shoulder and squeezed, and just as I was realizing how much that hurt I came to in the hospital, with Agent Hammond sitting by the bed. I kept asking him where you were, asking him to get you for me, telling him I needed to see you.

"And of course because he is … well who he is, he refused. I started to cry and he handed me a tissue that I had to use my left hand to dry my eyes with, because my right arm still wouldn't move. When I calmed down he explained what had happened, and told me I'd be going into protective custody, into WPP, that I had to go away for awhile. He told me I couldn't risk seeing anyone, not you, not my mom. He said if I really wanted to help the case against Valez I'd have to go in the program. When I told him to fuck off, that I'd take my chances on the outside, he told me it was too late. That they'd already proclaimed me, 'officially deceased.' I got the nurse to make him leave my room, and I laid there all alone and cried myself to sleep because I finally understood why everyone had tried so hard to get me to quit this case."

You're still looking at my face, and I feel myself getting lost in your eyes for the umpteenth time this weekend. "How did you get him to agree to our meeting?"

I laugh, sniffling away new tears, thinking about it.

"I found his cuffs and his keys when he dumped some stuff on the side table in the hospital one night. He went into the bathroom and while he was inside and the other guard was sitting outside the door, I cuffed myself to the heart monitor they had me hooked up to for awhile and threatened to swallow the key if he wouldn't let me at least say goodbye. I thought he was gonna kill me himself."

You laugh for the first time since dinner and I nestle in closer to you, pulling your body further onto me, using you like a blanket in our bed. "I know it wouldn't have done any good, that he could have just got the master key and unlocked me, but I think he realized how serious I was and gave up on fighting about it."

"No wonder he was so upset that night. Hammond doesn't strike me as the type that likes losing to a woman. Especially not one as beautiful as you."

"heh. Flattery will get you everywhere."

And with that I end our seriousness with a flick of my tongue over your lips. I'm ready to play again, and Hammond is not the image I have in mind.


	25. Three Letter Word

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Three-Letter-Word**

_Olivia_

Monday came far too quickly, and before I knew it, it was time to pull you out of bed so we could decide the best way to approach today. When we stopped last night to look at the answering machine on our silenced phone we found 2 messages from Elliot, one asking where I was, and another in a sly tone of voice that indicated he'd figured it out. I couldn't help groaning, not wanting to know how exactly he figured out you were here. On your cell was a message from Agent Hammond. Followed by another message from Agent Hammond. Followed by a third message from Agent Hammond. On the twelfth message he gave up and said he'd be here this morning to take you to the necessary meetings.

"Alex, baby, you have to get up. I have to get to work and Hammond's not the type to wait if we don't open the door right away. I can't really afford to replace a window and a door in a two-week period."

You groan and shove your head under a pillow, reaching for the covers with one hand. I pull them out of your reach and stick my head under the pillow with you and try to kiss your cheek. "I'll start the coffee."

As I head out of the bedroom and into the kitchen I hear you mumbling from under the pillow, "That's why I keep you around…" there's a pause and then you say the same thing you always say first thing in the morning, as if I'd never remember, "make it extra strong!"

I start the coffee pot and start to head back to the bedroom for a little more cuddle time before we actually have to get dressed and go places. Just as I'm settling back into the bed and curling an arm around your back to pull you to me, there's a loud knock at the door. "Dammit." I haul myself back out of bed and stop to tell you to get up again.

"I'm not moving until there's coffee." Big surprise. "And if that's Elliot, tell him I'm going to sue."

"For what?"

"For… defamation of character, I don't know Livvy just get rid of him! I can still sleep for like 15 minutes before we have to take a shower." You're such a baby about mornings. I plod to the door as a second knock thuds on the thick wood and laminate.

"I'm coming, Jesus Elliot, hold your---" The words die on my lips when I see who's at the door. "Agent Hammond."

"Detective."

"Your message said you'd be here at 7. It's 6am."

"My message… the 17th one in case you lost count, said I'd be here at 7 if you called me back, and that if I didn't hear from you, I'd be here at 6. That means I'm on time."

Ugh… nobody can argue semantics like Hammond, and I can't helping thinking that you're right about the whole fascist thing.

"Alex! You're boyfriend's here!"

_Alex_

You have got to be kidding me. You must be joking. It's… it's… I try to locate the alarm clock we knocked off the side table during our…. romp last night. "It's only 6 in the fucking morning! Tell him he's early, send him away, and come back to bed with me. I'll make it worth your while." I could not care less what Hammond thinks about this. I'm done caring about what Agent Hammond thinks about anything.

"Miss Regis, I'm sorry to arrive so early, but if you listened to my message,"

"Which one?" I can't help being petty. It's six am, I need coffee, and a morning shag before I can be couth and compliant. And why the hell is he still calling me Regis. I drag my legs out over the edge of the bed and shiver as my feet hit the cold wood floor. "Give me a minute Agent, do you mind if I dress before we go?"

You're back in the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind you, and I see that somehow you've managed to get a few drops of coffee straight from the drip into a cup for me.

"Bless you Benson."

"Anytime Regis." There's a twinkle in your eyes and because I'm lost in you as always I lose the opportunity to be angry. "Just shut up and hand me some clothes. And don't EVER call me Regis again."

"Anything you say Lizzie." Still a twinkle, and this time you top it off with a giggle that's far too girlish for your muscular body. I swipe absently at you as you pass by the bed and head for your closet. You pitch out a pair of my slacks, and one of your t-shirts, then a chocolate leather jacket.

"This is yours…"

"I know. I thought, maybe we could swap for a little while. Then no matter what we're always sort of… inside each other." you blush and I can't help getting a little turned on thinking about you wearing my jacket all day. The fact that I'm actually picturing you in my jacket and nothing else doesn't hurt.

"hmmmm…. I suppose it'll do." I take the jacket from you and lean in to kiss you deeply. I love the way your body reacts to me, your nipples hardening under your tank top, heat rising from your pores. I'm actually sort of enjoying the fact that Agent Hammond is in the other room waiting to take me away. I like to leave you wanting me.

I pull away and slip into the clothes you picked out, substituting a blouse for your t-shit, and then topping it off with your jacket.

"Well?"

You whistle appreciatively as Hammond knocks on the bedroom door. If looks could kill… well, we wouldn't have to deal with Agent Hammond anymore, that's for sure. I stave off your homicidal rage with another kiss, then open the door to Hammond. I've had some coffee, but my sense of decorum hasn't woken up yet,

"Do you mind waiting a moment Agent Hammond? I'm trying to arouse my girlfriend." He has the decency to blush and back up into the living room as I close the door against his retreating form.

"Alex! Jesus. What's gotten into you?"

"Honestly Olivia? I have no idea. I guess I'm just tired of living up to someone else's rules."

"What if he talks to someone?"

"I'm sorry, have you **met** Agent Hammond? The guy you nearly killed because he wouldn't share information with you and Elliot?"

"Still, Alex… look you may not have any more political aspirations, but…"

Oh my god. I suddenly understand what you're worried about. And it has nothing to do with my safety. I don't know what expression appeared on my face but you immediately begin backpedaling,

"Alex… Lexi, no. Stop ok, just listen. Elliot knows and I'm glad, and, well Hammond knows, obviously, but do you really think it's wise if we let the world know about us? I mean you're just appearing again after everyone thinks you were dead, and I'm in the middle of this case, and you have trials to testify at, and a move to make, and I just think maybe this isn't the best time to advertise that we're... you know."

"What Olivia? That we're what? Gay? Just say it. Jesus. After everything we've been through and you're afraid of a little three letter word?"

I know my reaction is over the top, and overly sensitive. But I can't help it. I can't believe you chose now to tell me you're afraid to come out. It's not like I asked you to shout it from the roof of the stationhouse. For Christ's sake I'm not even asking you to drive me to work with you.

"Don't spill anything on my jacket today Olivia, I'm going to want it back before I leave." I open the door and storm ahead of Agent Hammond, not caring what he has or hasn't overheard.

_Olivia_

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I can't believe I said it. I can't believe how much I want a drink right now. You ran out of the room so fast it took me a minute to figure out why. As soon as I remember the words that flew out of my mouth before I could stop them I start cursing again. Then I get dressed and wait for Elliot. One thing about that man, I can depend on him showing up to get all the good gossip on the drive to work.

"You didn't really say that to her did you?" Elliot sounds amused, which is not the reaction I wanted. It's hard enough talking to someone about this whole… thing without worrying that their laughing at you.

"Yes Elliot I really said it. God! It just… popped out. I swear, I have a mental condition. God says, 'look Olivia, here's your girlfriend back from the dead' and my brain goes, 'oh goody, let's see how badly we can fuck this up.'"

"Look, Liv I'm sure it's not that bad. She's gotta understand that you're under a lot of stress right now. Her returning is good, but still stressful and from the sound of the last couple days, really intense too. Besides that we've got the Patterson case, and it's easy to see how you got scared."

"I know El, but it was still the wrong thing to say, at the worst possible time. I'm never gonna live this down."

"Probably not, but you can work on it."

"How? After all the shit we talked about this weekend I got tweaked about Hammond knowing we were gay? Honestly Elliot, wouldn't you be pissed?"

"Um, well I don't think that really translates, but yeah probably."

"So what do I do?"

"Why are you asking me Liv, I'm not exactly hip on lesbian make-up strategy."

"Yeah but you're marrie----" the word dies on my lips. "I'm sorry Elliot. I just…"

"It's ok. I know"

"I just can't lose her again already." We spend the rest of the drive in silence, and I can't help breaking my own regretful recollections to wonder what Elliot's thinking.

_Alex_

For once I'm glad Agent Hammond doesn't talk. I'm too busy fuming too even ask what's in store for the day. I can understand your reticence, gay cops have certainly had a hard time once they've been found out, but the truth is, all the horror stories are about men. Not that it matters, but still I just can't believe you said that to me this morning, when things were going **so** well. How do you always do that to me? Reel me in, throw me back. I notice for the first time that I'm tugging at my hair. I try to pretend that I'm smoothing out the frizz as I calm myself to talk to Hammond.

"So, Agent, what's on the agenda?"

"Mostly paperwork today, settling some of the details, arranging for paper and property transfers back to your given name, a few notifications about your removal from WPP. It's not going to be very interesting. The new ADA will also start prepping you for your testimony."

I groan, you've told me about the new ADA. Casey doesn't exactly sound like my cup of tea. Olivia. Dammit. I wonder how many times today you're going to cross my mind. As angry as I am though, I can still hear you whispering last night, _"i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you."_ I know you meant those words, know you really felt them, not just now but all those years ago. Maybe this time it wasn't you pulling away from me, maybe it was just you being genuinely scared. I'm just not used to seeing that side of you. Maybe I still have a few things to learn, about both of us.


	26. Suicide

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Suicide**

_Olivia_

By the time we reach the station I'm working on a plan to show you how sorry I am. Mostly I think I just need to get you alone so we can talk again, because I think I can explain my reaction. Part of it is because of everything we've done this weekend. Huang always says that even good stress is still stress, and I have to believe he's right this time. That, combined with the trouble I'm having personally and professionally on the Patterson case made me blow up irrationally. Maybe I'm letting Sophie Patterson's fear infect me. Maybe I'm just stupid. Right now, I really don't know.

Right away we get called out to a scene, but Cragen pulls me aside quickly to tell me Hammond is going to want to talk to all of us when we get back, something about the Valez case. I wonder if you'll be with him. I already know what he has to tell the squad.

When we roll up to the scene, I realize the building is familiar. Elliot and I come to the same conclusion at the same time as we charge up the steps and towards Sophie's apartment. The scene is grisly, Sophie lies in the tub, up to her nose in now-cold water, tinged a dirty red. Her left wrist hangs over the edge of the tub, a razor blade on the floor beneath her lifeless hand. Sophie's girlfriend Julia sits in the living room, not moving, the shock of seeing her lover dead leaving her statuesque. The taller girl stares away from the open bathroom door, not willing to see the slightly rounded form of her dead girlfriend. Attacked, raped, killed. All for a little three letter word. That's what you called it right?

Elliot puts a hand on my arm, and I realize I've been staring at Sophie's body longer than necessary, not willing to believe she's gone. I meet his eyes, but don't speak, turning to Julie to ask the questions I really don't want the answers to.

"Julie, I'm Detective Benson, with the Special Victim's Unit. My partner and I were working on So-- Miss Patterson's case." It's hard to do my job right now. Hard to fight the urge to gather up Sophie's body and try to bring her back. I keep having to remind myself that there's a living vic to look after. Julie was just as much a victim of the rape as Sophie was, even if only by extension.

"Julie, I'm going to need to ask you some questions. And I understand that you may not remember everything right now, but with Sophie…. with Miss Patterson…"

"You want to know if I know anything about the men that raped her. Because she can't tell you anything when she's dead." Julie's eyes are cold as ice, unblinking against the tear that rolls down her cheek.

God Alex, I wish you were here for this. I have no idea how to talk to this girl. What do I tell her? What would I tell you?

"I understand how hard this must be for you," I flinch as the scene photographer snaps a shot of the bathroom. "But you're the only one left who might be able to help punish the people that hurt Sophie." I reach out to put my hand on top of Julie's two clenched together fists. She doesn't pull away and I take that as a sign of encouragement. "Julie, please… if we can't make these charges stick those three little bastards will go free. And if you don't help us stop them, someone else is going to have to find their girlfriend dead in the bathroom."

"Liv." Elliot's voice is terse and I know I've crossed a line. I pat Julie's hand and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll be right back ok?"

"Cool it down Benson. She can't talk if you terrify her."

"Elliot we can get these guys. The last time I talked to her, Sophie said Julie was there that night, that she shoved her out of the way behind the dumpsters when she saw those creeps coming towards them, she told her to stay put and not to say a word no matter what. Julie was hiding behind the dumpster the whole time and she never said a word. If she talks, the case is made, even without Sophie's testimony."

"Is it worth her sanity Liv? Don't you think she's lost enough right now?"

"I can't let this one go Elliot. And you know why."

_Alex_

By the time we finish the paperwork, I've actually almost forgiven you. We're in Cragen's office, waiting for you and Elliot to get back from a call, and giving Don a chance to adjust before he helps me re-meet you and Elliot and Munch and Fin. He knows most of the story, but not all of it. Hammond is still calling me Regis, but I feel like he's at least trying to remember that it's not who I am anymore. I convinced him to call my mother and he tells her he's coming by later to talk about my case. I want to be there when she finds out, just in case something goes wrong. The people that keep me informed about my old life mentioned that her heart isn't what it used to be.

While we wait, Don fills me in on the case you've been working on. The more I hear the better I understand this morning's outburst. I was right in the car… you were scared. Shit. Now I feel like I owe **you** an apology. A big one. When I see you pitch my coat in the seat of your chair I know wherever you and Elliot were, it didn't go well. You look like you're about to cry, but I don't think anyone but Elliot and I would know it. I have a feeling I'm going to be "escaping" from Herr Federal Agent tonight so I can talk to you.

Don steps out of the office to talk to his three detectives, and my only detective, trying to prepare them for … well… me. When the four of you step into the confines of his office Elliot looks tired, Fin and Munch share conspiratorial glances, and you look sheepish… and exhausted. I know you're as sorry about this morning as I feel after hearing about the new case. Munch recovers first,

"Cabot! I knew it was all a ruse. So you've been what, working undercover? Helping the CIA? Come on, fill me in." He babbles in typical John fashion as he leans forward to hug me, and I'm surprised as always by his height, and the bony feel of his arms.

"Good to see ya Alex, glad to hear the man didn't get'cha down." Fin is sweet, in his own way. You and Elliot are playing along, and I wonder when you'll tell the guys that you both already knew the big secret. Elliot leans in for a brotherly hug, and whispers about your state of mind. He didn't have to tell me you were upset… I can read your face like a dismissal motion.

When you hug me I can feel your arms start to latch around me, I know how badly you want to collapse into me, and I feel you fighting to keep your cool. "I'm sorry about this morning," you whisper in my ear, then pull away. "Good to see you Alex. Glad to have you back. We missed you."

I lean back to look at my detectives, as if I could ever think of you and the goons as anything else. "So, how does it feel to see a ghost?"

"It's great Cabot. Maybe we can make a habit of it, huh?" Cragen is ever the father figure, tough and sensitive all balled up in one. I'm glad to see the squad, but all I can really think about is getting you alone so we can talk about this case. I know what happens when you hold this stuff inside, and I can only imagine how much you want a drink right now. I want to be your replacement.


	27. Sophie

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Sophie**

_Olivia_

I know it's not enough, but after seeing Sophie's lifeless body in a tub, all I can do is whisper an apology as I pretend to be seeing you for the first time. I hug you, like everyone else but unlike the guys, I just want to fall in your arms, and for a moment I think I might actually faint. I'm overcome by it all, and I force myself to pull away, trying to regain my cool. Elliot touches the butt of my gun sticking up from my belt holster, I know what he's trying to say, "cool down." I take a breath and try to make my face look surprised instead of devastated and needy.

You're gone too soon, whisked away by Hammond and all I can do is stare after you, watching you walk away, wanting to collapse, instead settling in my chair and leaning my head in my hands, elbows on my desk. Before long Cragen calls us into his office to hear about the call. I let Elliot do all the talking, and like a true partner, he doesn't mention my push on Julie.

"You have a problem with this case Detective?" Don's voice snaps me back to the present, away from the vision of Sophie's softly plump body floating in a sea of red.

"No Capt'n. Just, thinking about the rape. I think if we can get Julie to talk we might still be able to get the three mousketeers on the rape charge."

"Do you think she _will_ talk?"

Ah, the real crux of the issue. "I don't know. Without her testimony, Novak has no case, and you already know how she feels about that."

"Yeah, and so do you. Elliot, talk to Novak, see what kind of evidence she needs to make the hate crimes stick. Then the two of you, find me something she can work with. Legitimately." Elliot turns to leave, and as I move to follow, Don calls me back,

"I need to chat with you detective. Close the door and have a seat."

Elliot gives me a sympathetic look, then heads off to find Casey.

"Look, Captain, I know I'm taking this a little… personally, but I think I can get Julie to talk."

"Olivia, don't you think maybe you should back off on this one? Before you end up facing more time with Huang."

"I can do this Captain. I need to do this."

"Why? Elliot's not the only once who's noticed you taking this one too personally. Even before he came to me with his concerns..."

"Elliot talked to you?" I can't stop my anger.

"Olivia he was worried about you. And frankly so am I. With Alex back, and this case clearly having an affect on you, maybe you should take a little time…"

"I don't need time Don, I need to close this file. Don't make me do this off-duty."

"Are you telling me that if I send you on vacation you would continue to pursue this without departmental approval? You and Elliot did everything you could to get Sophie to prosecute the rape, and then did everything you could to get her to testify for the hate crimes charge when she wouldn't pursue it independently. Why are you willing to risk your job for this?"

I can't answer. The silence fills the office, and I start to feel like I'm suffocating. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, unable to fight off the truth, and my tears.

_Alex_

I hate having to leave you like this, but even as Hammond whisks me away to my mother's I'm trying to figure out how to get away from the hotel tonight and get back to you. There's nothing I can do for you now, and I need to be prepared to see my mom.

"Seems like your girlfriend's having a little trouble, Miss Cabot. Can I expect you to try and slip away from me tonight?"

The sound of Hammond's uncharacteristic softness jolts me. I give him a questioning look as he drives towards the richest part of Long Island, taking me home. He catches my eye with the corner of his and shrugs.

"My daughter's gay. Lost her girlfriend last year when some guys decided she wasn't allowed to date women. We've… seen our share of phobia and hatred."

I'm surprised at this revelation, especially since after two years I know nothing about Hammond and his life. Maybe he's not so bad after all.

"You know I'm not really a fascist." I can't help but blush, feeling slightly ashamed for the first time. "But you're right, I don't like having to be your personal bodyguard. I'd rather have been in New York last year watching my daughter graduate from college. When you and your detectives ruined our case, Donovan and I were incensed. The night he died…"

Hammond's voice breaks, and he coughs to try and cover this sensitivity. "Donovan was my partner. A good one. He and Lydia and I worked closely together, and when your hotshot girlfriend wouldn't drop the investigation we both got worked up. I said some things that night. I should have cooled down before I came at you."

I don't respond, partly because I don't know what to say, and partly because the night of the explosion is still a blur for me in a lot of ways.

"Anyway. I don't like the idea of you being out of my range, but if I have to give you over to anyone, I suppose a hard-working SVU Detective is better than nothing. Just don't let it get back to the department. I've already lost two partners, I'd like to at least keep my job."

I nod, knowing he's looking at the road again, while I try to find my voice. "Thanks. She'd never let anything happen to me." Not this time.

_Olivia_

I wonder what you'll think when I tell you that I told the captain about us. Will you be angry? frustrated? scared? Proud? I always thought that if I was going to have a dad-type person in my life, Don'd make a pretty good one. He took my revelation, like everything else, in stride.

"Look, Liv-- I could care less who you're sleeping with, as long is it makes you happy and doesn't interfere with the job. I'm glad Alex is back, for your sake especially, but I need your guarantee that you're not going to get out of control about this case. Don't make me take one of my best detectives off of this. Because I will if I have to."

I nodded, unable to speak.

"And Detective, talk to your girlfriend. She might be able to help you get some perspective on this one. I think you need it. Take the rest of the day off."

Before I can protest, he adds, "that's not a suggestion. You're still lucky I don't make a mandatory vacation. Take the day."

I leave the office feeling both chastised and relieved. I just hope I get to see you again tonight, or tomorrow, or sometime before they pull you away to settle things on the Oregon end of the process. My mind flashes to the sight of Julie on the couch, of Sophie in the bath for the millionth time since we found them. I try to replace their faces with yours, trying to erase the sight of Sophie dead in my mind with the sight of you alive in my apartment. But all I accomplish is a grisly mix of the two… my face on Sophie's body in the tub, your face on Julie's in the living room. I need to be in your arms. I need to forget this, and forget how much I want to find a shot of vodka anywhere in the world.

_Alex_

Seeing my mother was… difficult. Proper and genteel as always, I was surprised to see tears rolling down her carefully made up cheeks. It was the first time I've ever seen her really cry. She's lost weight since I left, and I can see that she's grown weaker in my absence. I can't help feeling responsible as she sits delicately in the fancy living room armchair, one hand held to her heart, the other grasping mine. She didn't have much to say, mostly filled me in on the family investments, talked about the extended family, about new servants, trying to fill the space where our real relationship would have been, if we'd had one.

As Hammond pulled me away for my meeting with Novak, mother gripped my hand tighter and stood, lifting her right hand to my cheek,

"I've missed you Alexandra. You and your detective friend. Bring her by when you get back all right? I'd like to see you two at dinner some evening. I'll even have Marcella cook some of that rabbit food she eats. She must have been so glad to see you back again."

I don't tell her that you knew I wasn't dead. I'm hoping to start fresh with my mother this time around, and I know she wouldn't understand why I chose to fight to tell you, and not her.

"I'll call, mother. Take care all right? Tell everyone I said… I don't know… boo?" It's a lame joke, but mother laughs politely anyway. Always diplomatic, even with her own daughter.


	28. Restless Nights

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Restless Nights**

_Olivia_

When I hear a knock on my door at 7, I'm not expecting it to be you. I'm not even hoping it will be you. The sight of you on my doorstep, and of Hammond's stocky frame retreating down the stairs breaks my stoicism. You catch me as I collapse towards the floor, crying and shaking, unable to find my breath. You help me huddle to the bedroom, and lay me on my side on the bed, kneeling on the floor beside the bed, running your hand over my forehead, stroking back wisps of my hair.

When I finally feel like I can breathe normally again, you walk to the bathroom and come back with a wet washcloth, which you smooth over my face, wiping off my tears and, cleaning my running my nose. You return to the bathroom and I hear water running as you return with another clean washcloth to replace the first. You crawl into bed with me, and turn me to face you, smoothing over my forehead and cheeks, hot from crying, with the soft coolness of the terrycloth. You hold me to you with one hand in the small of my back, the way I like to hold you, while your other hand continues to chill the tears from my cheeks.

"About this morning," You cut me off before I can really begin,

"It's ok Olivia. Don told me a little about the case while we were waiting. I should have realized it wasn't about how you felt about me. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions."

_Alex_

Your shoulders start to shake again, and I wish I could crawl inside your head so you don't have to try tell me how you're feeling. "God Alex. She was just… dead. And it's my fault. I pushed her to hard."

"Don said Novak was all over you two to make that case. You did what you had to do."

"I should have seen it coming. The last two weeks she nearly slammed the door in my face a hundred times. Then all of a sudden, right before you got back she started talking about Julie being there, about how she was hiding behind a dumpster. I thought I was finally getting through to her, that maybe her giving up her girlfriend as a witness was a sign.

"It was a sign all-right. I should have known."

"How Livvy? How could possibly known she was going to kill herself over this?" You don't meet my eyes, drawing tighter into yourself, and as a consequence, tucking yourself into my body too, and I feel the tension of you against me, quivering.

"Because it's what I would have done."

I'm speechless, unable to retaliate, unable to argue against you. I know you're stronger than that, but I'm amazed that you don't. I shouldn't have made you talk this weekend, I should have just been satisfied to be back, been satisfied with the difference of you. And now I can't help but feel as if I have a hand in this terrific and unstoppable pain.

"You wouldn't have Liv. I know you. You couldn't… not ever."

You turn your eyes up to meet me, the corners of your twin chocolate oceans caked with tear-salt. "Really? You think I couldn't have? Do you know what I did when I thought you were dead Alex? Before I saw you with my own two eyes, saw that you were still alive? I came back here and I pulled out a bottle of vodka and I stared at it. Then I got the Tylenol from the bathroom and stared at that next to vodka. I stayed that way all night. And the only thing that kept me alive was knowing that Elliot would be the one who'd have to call it in when he came to get me in the morning. I'm no stronger than Sophie was. And If I'd been in her shoes… I don't know.

"They raped her because she was gay Alex. Because of that silly little three letter word you were so angry about this morning. She died in a tub of water and blood because she was gay. Because she couldn't change who she was, and because I pushed her to tell the world about something that had already almost killed her once."

You've stopped crying and I can't help but think you've used up your supply of tears for awhile. You shiver in my arms and I put the washcloth aside, gathering you up and rubbing my hands up and down your back to warm you up.

"You're not Sophie Liv. And I'm not Julie. I wouldn't let you shove me away and watch someone hurt you. And if, god forbid, something like that did happen, which it wouldn't, I know you'd be strong enough to do what needed to be done, even if you felt like it was ripping you apart. I can't protect you from your job, and the truth is I can't protect you from yourself either, only you can do that. All I can do is hold you and tell you that I know you better than that.

"I know the woman I love, and she wouldn't let herself be done in by three morons with an eighth grade vocabulary."

I can feel your body relaxing against me, worn out from the force of your sobbing, worn out from the force of this day, of this week, of these years. During the night I take up my old role, soothing away your nightmares as you toss and shudder in my arms. Each time, I watch your eyelids flutter, your mouth skewed by terror or revulsion or pain… and I stroke your hair and whisper something you said to me not so very long ago… _"i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you,"_


	29. Getting Ready

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Preparations**

_Olivia_

When I wake in the morning, my whole body aches. I remember collapsing at the sight of you at my door, and I turn my head to the side to find you watching me.

"Don called, he said to come in late. You and Elliot have an appointment to talk to Julie at 2pm. Elliot will be by to pick you up at one."

I nod, still too wrung out from yesterday to respond. I sigh and scoot closer to you, wanting to feel your warmth around me. I feel numb, and tired, and the only thing I can think of besides alcohol is being as close to you as possible.

"I called Hammond and asked him to push back my meeting with Casey, Branch and Donnelly."

I raise my eyebrows, "Hammond just let you do that?"

"He's not really as bad as we thought. I'll tell you about it later." You lean forward to kiss me gently, and I can't help feeling like your skating around something we need to talk about. I'm not really sure I have the energy for it, whatever it is.

"Liv, about yesterday."

"Alex…. please. I… can't talk about this right now." Anger brews behind your eyes, but you're quick to cover it up. "Just give me a bit to wake up first ok, and then… and then I'll be ready. I promise."

"It's ok. Just don't go back…" you're still tiptoeing around something and I remember what I did between the station-house and here.

"Lexi, I didn't buy anything to open it with. It was a reflex. I'm not used to having you here yet.

"Three of them Olivia. You bought three."

I shake my head… that can't be right. I know I must look confused, because I am. One bottle of Vodka I remember. But the other two? I can't help the next question,

"Did I … did I …" the look on your face stops me. "Oh god. Alex, baby I didn't know. I mean, I didn't mean to do it. Oh god. Why are you still here?"

"Olivia. Slow down. You opened one, even poured it in a glass. But I looked, and I don't think you actually drank it. Glass and bottle are still sitting on the counter. Looks like whatever amount is missing from the bottle is still in the glass."

I can't help choking back a sob, I'm relieved and terrified, what else did I do that I don't remember? My worries unstick my tongue,

"Jesus Alex. How did I let this happen? I should have told Casey I was done. This girl was walking the edge from the moment she reported the rape. No, it wasn't even her report… the girlfriend called the cops and the hospital filed the evidentiary report. Do you know what she said when I interviewed her in the hospital room?

'I wasn't raped. It's a mistake.'

"A mistake Alex. Her **girlfriend** called to report the rape and Sophie still wouldn't admit it."

"Sounds me like she couldn't admit it. Didn't Don mention something about her family being like, fundamentalist Catholics or something?"

"Yeah, some bizarre branch-off from Catholicism. The Pope's all well and good to these folks but he doesn't bear the same standing in their eyes as he does in the typical Catholic Church. To them, the Bible is the end all be all. You should have heard her talking about them, she was terrified. There were times during this thing when I thought Sophie would rather be raped again then have her folks find out she was gay. And this was a grown woman! She was living with her girlfriend for Christ's sake!"

"What about the girlfriend though, didn't you say she was there during the attack? Will she testify?"

"I don't know. I didn't get much of a chance to talk to her yesterday. I'm not sure I'm the best one to do it either. Maybe Cragen's right, Elliot too. Maybe I'm just too invested in this one." I turn my head away from you again, staring at the lilac-colored walls and feeling the smoothness of your body cradling me in a spoon. You run your fingers through my hair, longer too since you've been gone. When you speak your voice is barely above a whisper,

"I think you're the perfect person for this case Liv. You're the only person for this one. Elliot's great, and he has a great ability to maintain sensitivity no matter what, but you have to admit you have a unique… perspective to add to this. And I know you don't like it, and if I was Novak, I'd probably be trying to convince you to drop it, just like everyone else. But I'm not Novak, and I'm not Cragen, and I'm not Elliot. I know you can do this in a way that no-one else on that squad can."

_Alex_

"Livvy, you have an unparalleled insight into this case. You don't have to tell anyone why if you don't want to, but you can use this to open Julie up. Get her to talk to you, let her know that you understand. She's not going to talk to John or Fin or Elliot. And after meeting Novak yesterday I can pretty much guarantee she won't talk to Casey. But you can offer her something no one else can. Safety."

You scoff, "Safety? Safety Alex? The kind of safety I offered Sophie?"

"No Liv. The kind of safety you find in someone who understands loss. I may be back now, but I know you remember how you felt when you thought I was gone for good. Use that. Use that, and your characteristic strength, and yes, even use your fear. You can draw her out. And then we can get those bastards before they do this to someone else."

I'm taking a risk, asking you to use your fear, hoping you'll understand what I mean. I should never underestimate you… you know exactly what I'm talking about.

"I'm sorry, Alex… about this morning I mean. I've spent so many years pretending that the thought of being open about this terrifies me. I've seen what happens to gay cops, Alex. They end up raped, beaten, suddenly it's very easy to find themselves in the path of a bullet. Partners get unreliable and IAB gets interested."

"You really think you'd have a problem with those guys? Olivia those four men adore you. They would lay down their lives for you… hell, Elliot already has, probably more than once. Don and John and Fin and Elliot treat you like their sister. They'd rather die than let anyone come after you that way. Look, I'm not telling you to go yell it from the roof of the station house, but Elliot knows doesn't he? And when you told him, did the world end?"

"He seemed a little uncomfortable, but otherwise no, he was Elliot. Cragen was pretty ok with it too."

Now I'm surprised, "You told Don?" You nod in response. "What did he say?"

"That he didn't care who I slept with, as long as I was happy and it didn't affect the job."

That sounds like the Captain. Pretty much what I would have expected. "Liv they love you, we all do. Being gay is not something to be ashamed of. You don't have to hide this anymore. Look at Serena… didn't you say she came out not too long ago?

"Yeah, and she lost her job for it."

"Look, Branch can be a prick but I doubt that was it. Besides, Novak's still working for him."

"Novak? You're kidding me."

"She and Serena met when they were in law school. Evidently they've been together for years, it's the reason Novak moved to New York to take the SVU detail."

"I thought you said Novak would be the wrong person to talk to Julie?"

"She would. Novak doesn't know anything about loss. She doesn't understand what its like to be afraid to be who she is, not like you do. And let's face it… she's not the most sensitive person in the world. Quite frankly she and Serena are perfect for each other."

You turn your head and I can see a sheepish smile on your face. I'm glad to think I may have made you feel at least a little bit better.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to talk to Julie one more time. Wanna tag along? It'll be like old times?"

"No, I can't pass that meeting with Novak and Hammond. Besides, I'll be with you the whole time. You can even wear my jacket again." Thoughts of you in my jacket take me back to the morning… "In fact, wait here…"

I pop out of bed and go to the living room, pausing to check the clock. It's only seven. Hammond won't be here till noon, and you have another hour after that to wait for Elliot. Plenty of time for a little… healing.


	30. A Jacket and a Smile

**Chapter Thirty: A Jacket and a Smile**

_Olivia_

When you walk in carrying your leather jacket I can see a refreshingly familiar twinkle in your eye.

"Time to get up Detective." I groan, not wanting to leave the warmth of the bed… wishing instead that you'd crawl back in.

"Oh, don't worry, it won't be for long. Just come over here." I pull my body out of bed and step up to you as you rest the jacket on the side table by the bed. When I get to you you reach for the bottom of my shirt and pull me in for a kiss. "I have the perfect idea for an outfit. But I don't want you to wear it for anyone but me, promise?"

I nod, speechless as you pull off my shirt, and then push down at my sweatpants. When I'm standing in my panties you kiss me again, and push absently at the hem of my underwear. I wiggle my hips and legs until I feel them fall to the floor. It never fails to amaze me how easily you can calm my mind.

I feel the cool slickness of the coat against my skin, and without breaking our kiss you reach to drape it over my shoulders, then pull away from my lips to guide my arms into the sleeves. In a matter of seconds I'm standing in nothing but your leather jacket and a smile. You step back to look at me, and I blush at the intensity with which you study me.

"See anything you like counselor?"

"mmmm…. I certainly do detective, and it's all wrapped up and ready to go."

I reach out for you with both hands, pulling you into me, fighting to pull you out of your tank top and pajama bottoms. It's all I can do not to tear off your underwear, and instead I slide down your body, making sure that you get a generous feel of both my skin and the cool leather against you as I reach the line of your underwear on your hips and plant tiny kisses along its hem. I can see as I draw them down that you're already wet, and the scent of your musk pulls me down. I flick your clit with my tongue and run a finger down your slit, gathering some of your wetness on its tip. You wiggle your feet free from your panties and I pull back up your body, watching your eyes as I lick your juices from my finger. I can tell you're wondering when I took over this game that you started, and I recognize the fire in your eyes.

You grab my hand away from my lips and guide it to your breasts, using your hand to make mine fondle you as you pull my head towards you with the other and crash against my mouth. Your tongue is probing, and you shove your way into my mouth, and I can taste your desire as you massage and lick at my tongue inside my mouth.

We stumble back to the bed and you kneel on the floor, pushing me back with your hands, leaving my legs hanging over the edge, the v of my legs perched on the end of the mattress. I moan as I feel you mimic my earlier motions, flicking at my clit with your tongue and using a finger to track some of the wetness between my legs up and around my swollen clitoris, moving your mouth into position, teasing me with your breath.

This is your specialty, teasing me, giving me almost what I want, waiting until I beg you to touch me, beg you to suckle me, to make me come. You roll my most tender part between your thumb and finger, and I gasp at the contact. My back arches and I open my mouth to speak, dying to feel you inside of me,

"please… Alex. Please."

_Alex_

"Please what? What do you want Olivia? This?"

I run the tip of my tongue down your slit, feeling you quiver beneath me, your body shuddering, trying to get closer to my mouth.

"Please… touch me. please…."

I lean my mouth closer, looking up through my eyelashes at your face, contorted with desire. I stop a hair's breadth away from you, and speak breathily against your heat, "is that all? you just want me to touch you?"

Your body bucks at my breath, "no Alex. please. fuck me. I need you. I love you. fuck. me. pleeaasse"

I acquiesce quickly, plunging my tongue beyond your folds, gripping your hip with one hand and using the other to play with your clit, sometimes substituting a finger or two for my tongue, or using my tongue and my fingers, the way I know you love. I can hear you moaning on the bed above me, and the sound of you wanting me makes me even wetter. I feel my nipples harden, and a trail begins to drip slowly down my thigh. I pause my suckling to tell you to take off my jacket, and you quickly throw it aside, then grab at me as I swing myself around without stopping my movements. I shudder inside of you as I feel you slurping hungrily at my own wetness. You don't tease the way that I did, and the intensity of your tongue's rhythm in and out, matched by fingers, and the feel of your thumb on my clit is almost enough to make me forget about you. I didn't realize I'd stopped my attentions until you moan against my skin. "please…"

I return to your slit, your clit, delving deep inside of you with my tongue and fingers, moaning as you play with me, the vibration of my moans making you shudder beneath me, and I know that neither of us can keep this up for long. I feel your walls tighten around my tongue and fingers even as I think it, and I know you're getting a similar reaction from between my legs. We explode against each other, and I take care not to let a single drop escape me, the sweetness of you too precious to waste.

As I finally shift my body back to meet your eyes, your lips, I can see a familiar glaze in your pupils. We push into each others mouths, our tongues battling for leadership, darting back and forth between us, tasting each other again as our hands explore each other's bodies, neck, shoulder, breasts, ass, hips, waist. I let my hand find its way between your legs again, and as you arch your head away from mine I kiss the nape of your neck, then trace a line with my tongue along your jaw, returning to your mouth as I pull more of your wetness away with my hand. I run my finger, slick with you, over your lips, then kiss away this natural gloss. I can never get enough of that taste, and you kiss hungrily back at me, drawing my tongue back inside your mouth to play with yours.

Sticky and tired, we fall asleep in each other's arms for a few hours, and I'm glad I remembered to set an alarm before I made you put on my coat. I'll never look at that coat the same way again.


	31. Novak

**Chapter Thirty-One: Novak**

_Olivia_

When my alarm goes off at 10:30, I hear the shower running in the other room, and at first I wonder why you didn't wake me up for work. I vaguely remember waking up earlier, and as my brain unfogs, I definitely remember waking up earlier. The thought of our little workout brings a sleepy smile to my face, and even though I remember now that Hammond will be here for you at noon, I decide to join you in the shower as a thank you for earlier.

My entry into the bathroom makes you turn under the water, and I'm breathless at the sight of your silky whiteness under its cascade. I'll never get used to looking at you.

"Want some company?"

"I've gotta be ready to go at noon"

"I'll keep it perfectly innocent…" I can't stop my wink.

"You'd better not." You reach your hand out of the curtain to pull me in with you, and I'm glad I didn't get dressed.

After a few minutes we both realize we're too tired and sore to try anything really frisky in the slick tub, and we resign ourselves to washing each other's hair and bodies, making our touches linger, and trying at once to see who can make the other more aroused, and more clean. It's an interesting game, and before long the whole thing dissolves into those intoxicating kisses we both love, holding onto each other under the showerhead. I like this closeness to you. I like the feeling of being tucked into your arms, safe. I wish I could stay here all day, I wish I could stay here forever, just… safe.

"I need to get ready Livvy. And so do you." You speak reluctantly against my lips, and I drop my head onto your shoulder, feeling a few tears mix with the water that slides off our bodies.

"What if I can't convince Julie, Alex? Am I supposed to just let it go?"

"You can though. I know you can. Just, be you. Not Detective you. **My** you."

I sigh against your skin, "I don't know Lexi. What am I supposed to say to her?"

"Tell her whatever you'd want someone to tell me." You pull away a little, using your hand to draw my head up to meet your eyes. "Olivia, I know that you are stronger than Sophie was. Maybe you don't believe me, but you are. If anyone can help this girl it's you. Get her to testify Detective. I know you can."

"I hope so Alex."

"And don't worry about the vodka, I'll get rid of it before I leave." You kiss me gently and then step out of the shower. I stay behind, absent-mindedly rinsing my hair, trying to prepare for my meeting with Julie. When I finally shut off the water and step dripping back into the bedroom, you're already in the kitchen, and I hear the familiar clink of my glass and bottles as you open them and pour them down the drain. It's not as hard to hear as I expected. Maybe that's because I'm still so surprised that I don't remember buying them all. I'm relieved to have the decision taken out of my hands.

But still, there's a piece of me deep down that wants to keep a bottle for myself. Not necessarily to drink, just… to have. I sigh and move to my closet, preparing for the rest of the day.

_Alex_

By the time Hammond arrives at noon I've finished cleaning up vodka bottles, and the glass you poured is washed and put back in the cupboard. I couldn't resist pouring it back into the bottle first, checking the levels. It's clear you didn't drink any, and I almost feel guilty for checking. Almost.

I skip breakfast, opting instead for coffee in one of your travel mugs and I call out a goodbye to you as I follow Hammond to the car, pausing to lock the door behind me with my key.

"Are you ready to go over your testimony?" Hammond is unusually talkative this afternoon, and I'm not sure if I'm relieved or annoyed.

"I don't know. I'm ready to testify, yes. But I'm a little worried about Miss Novak's ability to handle the case."

"She seems competent enough"

"Maybe I'm just too close to this to be objective. She doesn't seem to have the passion for this that I'd like to see."

"Well counselor, you have to admit you've had enough passion for about five people about this case. If you hadn't, I wouldn't be chauffeuring you around two years later."

I can't help the perplexed look on my face. Hammond turns to catch my eye and explains, "Hate to admit it counselor, but I've actually gotten used to you. The truth is you remind me of my daughter. I'll be lucky if she turns out to be half as intelligent, passionate, and strong-willed as you and your Detective."

"Don't you mean obstinate and annoying?"

Hammond enjoys a rare chuckle. "Well, that too. It seems to have served you fairly well."

"Yes, my obstinacy served me so well that I had to go into hiding for two years without being able to tell anyone but my ex-girlfriend what was happening."

"Ex?"

"It's a long story. It doesn't really matter now anyway, that's all behind us." Mostly. "And anyway… it has nothing to do with this trial. Who's the other witness? Do you know?"

"A little boy. He witnessed one of Valez men murdering his parents, and then caught a glimpse of the guy as he himself was being shot. They shot him through a pillow and must not have had a taste for it, gun was off center and the bullet just grazed his skull. He was lucky. Your detective and her partner were part of the crew that found him about a month ago."

I can't stop the look of surprise.

"She's been a little preoccupied, plus I don't think she knows he's a witness yet. Maybe she hasn't put the pieces together yet."

"Maybe." I know better. You probably meant to tell me at first, but I distracted you with all of my questions, wanting to clear the air. And then the Patterson case happened and I can see how you got sidetracked. It's not like you to miss those kinds of connections. Usually you're the first one to notice correlations. Part of the reason you're good at your job I suppose.

I wonder if you're ready to talk to Julie. I wonder if I'm ready to talk to Novak… again.

_Olivia_

When Elliot arrives, I've stolen some of your coffee from the pot, deciding I need the jolt of caffeine for a change. He raises his eyebrows at the sight of my coffee cup, he's used to seeing me chugging orange juice.

"Rough night?" There's a wink in his voice and I shot him a nasty look. "Sorry. Did you get any sleep, or did Alex make you talk all night?"

"By the time she got here I was pretty much done using my brain. Last thing I remember for awhile is heading face down towards the floor."

"Passed out? Jeez Benson, I knew you were stressed but.."

"Not sure how she got me to the bedroom, but when I came too she was wiping my face with a washcloth. I'm fine now though. We had a long talk afterwards, and then again this morning."

"Are you sure you can do this one?"

"Look I know you went to Don and told him you were concerned." I can't help sounding angry.

"Liv. This has been a big week for you, and this case is understandably difficult."

I cut him off, "I can do this Elliot. If I don't, who will? I'm the only who can talk to this girl."

"I can talk to her."

I sigh, wishing that were true. "No. Not this way. I have to do this. For Sophie."

"All right, let's do it."

I take a few deep breaths before ringing the bell at Julie's parents where she's been staying until she finds a new apartment. She answers the bell herself, face stained with tears. "I had a feeling you'd be here."

"Miss Naysom…"

"Patterson. Julie Patterson. We were-- we were going to Canada to get married next year."

"Julie. We have a few more questions we need to ask you. Can we do this here? Or would you rather…"

"It's fine. My parents know about everything. They were the ones paying for our wedding. My mom was going to go with Sophie when she was ready to tell her folks."

Julie opens the door wider to let us in, sniffling back more tears as she leads us to a fancy living room-- the sort of room I'd expect to see in your mother's house-- and I'm struck again by how much this case reminds me of us. A well-dressed woman with finely coiffed hair sticks her head into the room as we sit down, "Julie, is everything all right?"

"It's fine mom, these are the detectives who are working on Sophie's case." Julie's voice breaks at her lover's name, as her mother comes in to place one hand on her shoulder, extending the other to Elliot and myself in a firm handshake.

"We're so sorry to bother you at home Mrs. Naysom. We'll try to make this is as quick as possible."

"It's quite all right, we were all very attached to Sophie, looking forward to having her in the family. We want to do all we can to get justice for her death. Those men are murderers. We want them punished."

"Well, Mrs. Naysom, as much as I agree personally, the bottom line is that Sophie is the only one responsible for her death as far as the law is concerned." The refined woman harbors an expression of intense anger as I quickly continue, "But I can personally guarantee that those three little rodents will pay for what they did to her."

"I certainly hope so detective. You can't imagine how difficult this has been for us. Sophie was practically our daughter-in-law. We wasted a lot of Julie's teen years fighting over her choices, and we all feel as though we've been cheated by this."

"Actually, I do understand. And that's why I'm so determined to help the ADA make a case against those men. But I need Julie's help to do it." I turn my attention from mother to daughter, noticing her fatigue and stress in the dark circles under her eyes. I'm familiar with the feeling. It's hard to sleep with a dead lover. "Julie, I need you to tell me everything you remember from the night Sophie was attacked. I know how terrifying it must have been for you, but Sophie told me that you were there and you're the only one who can help her now."

Elliot is silent beside me, notebook out and pen ready. I have to trust he'll take the notes that I would, I need to focus my attention on the victim who was left behind.

Julie's mother kneels beside her chair, and puts a hand on her arm, using the other to smooth her daughter's long black hair back behind her shoulders. "Talk to them baby, it's what Sophie would want. What if they get out? If you don't stop them, no one will."

I watch Julie's shoulders fall, the stiffness leaving her body as she settles sadly into the chair and begins to talk. I can't help but wish Sophie had been so open. Maybe then this wouldn't be necessary.

_Alex_

The meeting with Novak is about what I'd expected. She's business-like as usual, and I still feel a little concerned with her missing passion. Hammond waits outside as we discuss the case and the questions she'll be asking. When we both feel comfortable with the coming testimony she settles behind her desk and shakes her hair out of her face.

"Was it hard?"

"Was what hard Miss Novak?"

"Casey, please. Coming back. Being here?" She gestures at her office.

"You must be a very good ADA, you're office is much nicer than mine ever was."

She scoffs lightly. "Sometimes I wonder if they're trying to inspire me to further heights."

"Meaning what? The office is supposed to inspire a passion for your job?" I hope that doesn't sound as petty as I think it did.

"I suppose. How did you do it? How did you do this job? I've been here almost two years and I still feel like I don't know what I'm doing."

"I was lucky. And so are you. You have the best detectives on the force working out there. And it helps to have someone to come home to."

"Did you? The office rumor is that you had a relationship with Trevor Langan."

I can't help but laugh. "Trevor Langan and I went to law school together. He's an arrogant prick and a sleazy but effective defense attorney. And he's not even remotely my type. But what about you? Doesn't Serena offer a little… understanding at the end of the day?"

Casey looks surprised. For someone who listens to the rumor mill, she certainly seems shocked that she's in it. "Word gets around counselor, remember?"

"Things at home haven't been… very calm since Arthur fired her. She's understandably upset, and not entirely sure it's not a political thing. She's been on a tear cleaning the house, talking about moving to Washington. She won't talk about how she feels about leaving, just keeps going on about the political climate, and the state of the world. It's been a little tense."

Sounds familiar. "Olivia was always like that. Talked about everything but what was really bothering her." Before I can stop it, I realize I've outed you to a woman you despise and I slap my hand over my mouth, hoping maybe the lawyer is as dim as you've been telling me.

"Olivia? Guess Trevor really isn't your type." You're half right… it takes Casey a minute to put two and two together, "Wait. Detective Benson? That Olivia?" She reads my face and continues, "Not to worry counselor, your secret is safe with me. I always sort of wondered about her anyway. All those dates and no relationship to speak of. Although I had sort of chalked it up to being a consequence of the job."

"It wasn't always the easiest relationship to maintain," that's an understatement, "but since I've been back she's been… different." I'm trying to avoid the elephant in the room, but Casey broaches the subject,

"I'm sure she's told you I've been rough on them about the Patterson case."

"You've done all but terrorize Elliot and Olivia about it. Do you really think they're slacking off on this?"

"You know as well as I do that my case is only as good as the evidence I've been given. This one touches on a personal matter as well and I'm sure you can understand my desire to have this end the right way."

"And I'm sure you understand that my girlfriend is already walking a very thin line and your constant and unnecessary pressure isn't helping her nerves."

"Look, Miss Cabot, you of all people should understand my position. I have three 20 year olds sitting in a holding cell. I have had to fight the judge and opposing counsel at least 3 times a week for a month to keep them there without an actual prosecuting witness. The only thing that's keeping them there is the hate crimes charge that I have to refile and attempt to justify every other day. And knowing what I do about your relationship preferences, you should also understand why I'm so determined to win this case."

Now I get why you don't like her. And I'm sort of getting a vision of my early days on this job. Was I really **this** annoying?

"There is more to this than a case Novak. Olivia is wrung out on this one. You have to back off."

"I'm sorry if your _girlfriend_ is stressed Alex, but I need her to grow up and be a detective on this one. She still has a job to do."

I don't stick around to hear the rest of her argument. Turning on my heel, I storm out of her overfurnished office and whip past a confused Agent Hammond, who follows me quickly, but knows better than to ask what happened.


	32. Trial and Error

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Trial and Error**

_Olivia_

By the time I see you storming into the bullpen with Hammond at your heels, Elliot and I have had a chance to give all the new information to Cragen. He places a call to Novak and I'm glad to finally have something worthwhile to give her. Julie's memory of that night is incredibly vivid, as I'd both hoped and feared. She had especially important details about a unique piercing, and an unfortunately placed tattoo. Two of the three guys were sunk. If she could pick the third out of a lineup, he'd go down too.

I'm distracted from celebration by the sound of your heels clicking into the room. You grab my arm and pull me into the interview room, slamming the door behind us.

"That woman is insufferable!" I haven't seen you fuming like this in awhile… it's kind of sexy. Until I realize that you're genuinely angry.

"Meeting with Casey went well huh?"

"She practically accused you and Elliot of not knowing how to do your jobs."

"Why were you talking about me and Elliot?"

"It came up. She was asking me how I handled the job when I was here, and we got to talking about her and Serena and you and I and--"

"You told Casey about us! Alex, look, my reservations aside, I abhor that woman! How could you give her **more** ammunition to use against me? She's already on my ass about this without you pissing her off."

"Me pissing **her** off! Me? That woman... that woman. She… she! Argh!"

I jump at the sound of you pounding a fist on one-way. I go to your side and kiss the edge of your hand as you try to shake out the pain. "Alex, calm down. I tried to tell you she was infuriating."

Your shoulders are heaving, your breath heavy… I don't think I've seen you like this before. "What's going on Alex? Really?"

You turn to me, and I only hope noone decides to check in on us. I'm still holding your clenched fist, which I'm sure is starting to throb-- you're not used to hitting things. "I'm sorry Liv. I guess I'm a little worried about this testimony. I'm not used to being on that side of the witness stand, and then there's your case, and Novak just went too far. It's my fault, I opened the door by asking about Serena."

"Don't talk like a lawyer Alex. This isn't court. What happened?"

"She asked me how I did it, when I was on the squad. It was all well and good until I spit out the bit about us. Which I'm sorry for, by the way. She was mentioning being frustrated by Serena's unwillingness to discuss how she felt about being fired, and I popped out about how you used to do the same thing. You were right about her though, it took a minute before she connected your name with you."

I sigh, unwilling to have this fight right now. "It's ok. I get it. Believe me, I of all people understand how quickly Casey gets under your skin. Besides, maybe you're right about telling people anyway." I pause, and you stare straight ahead, I know your mind is somewhere else. "It'll be ok Alex. It's just a trial." My words fall flat, after these last two years we know that's not true.

"Look, at least its almost over right?"

You nod, but I can see you're still distracted.

"You should probably get out of here… Casey's on her way to hear about the new evidence."

"Julie talked?" You turn to meet my gaze, and I can see you trying to shift your focus to me.

"Yup. With a little help from her mom she finally told us everything. I think her memory is better than Sophie's was. Assuming tattoos and piercing match up, we should have enough visual evidence to make the charges stick again. And she has an amazing aural memory. Even Novak should be able to make the hate crimes stick now."

Your smile is tired, but I know you're trying.

"Do you have more meetings today?" You shake your head, and play with my fingers. "Do you think Hammond would let you stay with me again?"

"Probably. Turns out he is a human being. With a gay daughter."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding. He has humor and emotions and everything. He even chuckled today."

I wish you sounded amused. You look a little bit like me all of a sudden.

"Go home Alex. Have Hammond take you to my place, see if you can make him human enough to clean while he's there, our laundry's getting out of control." I lean in to kiss you as someone knocks on the one-way.

"Shit." For a minute I debate pulling away but decide to go with it. It's enough to shock you back to the present as you respond after a moment's hesitation. It's not a long kiss, but whoever knocked clearly can't wait. I'm not surprised to see Casey's head pop into the room over your shoulder.

"Detective? A word?" So much for office romance. I squeeze your hand and lead you out of the room, past your replacement.

"I'll see you at home. Agent Hammond-- take care of my girl ok?"

He nods curtly. I guess I'll have to take your word on the human thing.

_Alex_

I'm exhausted. Tired of this whole ordeal. The stress of the last two years seems to be catching up with me all of a sudden, and the idea of this trial frightens me. I've been so busy being scared and annoyed at my circumstances that I hadn't stopped to think about what happens when it's over. Seeing Novak in her office today, listening to her talk about Serena, and yes, about you makes me wonder what will happen when it's over.

I don't even bother to look at Novak after she interrupts our moment, just let you whisk me past her and into Hammond's capable hands. We leave the squad room and head towards his car. He opens the door for me, and helps ease me into the sedan.

"Where are we headed Miss Cabot? There's a hotel room waiting if you want it."

I shake my head, "Liv's." I need to be in your space, surrounded by your things, waiting for you to come home. We ride in silence for a while, my head turned to watch the streets of New York whizzing past me.

"You know, a lot of people choose not to go back. For a lot of people in WPP the idea of taking up their old lives is too stressful. It's too painful to watch the world they left behind try to take them back in, when it never stopped moving. No one is going to make you stay here. The department is willing to maintain your life in Oregon. All the papers can be transferred directly from our possession to yours, you can even keep the name if you want. Or just have it all transferred to your given name. It's a lot of paperwork, but the department understands how complicated this process can get for people."

I'm only half-tuned in to what Hammond is telling me. Trying to weed through my brain, decide what I want to do.

"You don't have to decide right now either, Alexandra." This first use of my full name brings me back to the moment.

"Thank you Agent Hammond. I guess I just didn't expect…"

"You didn't expect it to end. Most of them don't. And at this point, you might as well call me Jack."

"What do most people do? When they get out?"

"Most people don't get out. You're one of the lucky ones."

"Why don't I feel lucky?"

"Have you talked to your detective about this?"

"No. Mostly we've been talking about her. About the past. Sorting through some things."

"Maybe it's time to talk about you, and your future."

There's a beat, a pause…

"It's time for you to get used to having one."

I turn my head back to the window and nod as we pull up to your apartment. Hammond is right-- It's my turn now. My life.


	33. Future

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Future**

_Olivia_

I'm only paying cursory attention to Casey's questions, letting Elliot handle most of the answers, since he's the one with the notebook. I'm still worried about you, hoping you didn't go to the hotel that's been empty since your return. It seems like our psyche's aren't going to get a day off while you're here and I'm only sorry that today was your turn to take a beating.

"Well Detectives, it looks like you've finally given me something I can work with." Novak's tone is sarcastic, and Elliot puts a hand on my arm to stave off my anger.

"We can only give you what we get Casey. It's not like we weren't trying."

"I'm sure you were detective. I'm just glad you and your partner didn't blow the case"

Cragen cuts in, "Counselor, I'd suggest you watch what you say. These two detectives have been working their asses off trying to find something for you to latch on to. I also suggest if you have a better idea of how to work a case that next time, you do the legwork yourself. It's not our job to find evidence for you, it's your job to do something with the evidence we give you.

"Why do I feel like I've said this before?"

Elliot and I share a look. We've had this fight before, but last time the ADA was blond, and nearly got us fired.

"All right. Novak, go do your job, Olivia, Elliot, take a break. Good work today. Go home. And Miss Novak, the next time you want to accuse my detectives of not working hard enough, spend a day on the job with them, then come talk to me."

Elliot and I walk out of the office together, and I accept his offer of a ride home. I hear Casey's heels clicking behind us, catching up.

"You don't want to talk to me right now counselor."

"Olivia, wait. Let me explain."

"Explain what Casey? How you threatened me through my girlfriend?"

Elliot shifts in place, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Liv, I'm gonna get the car. See you downstairs in five?"

I nod, then turn the brunt of my anger on the Red-headed ADA. "You had no right to turn on Alex like that. Your job is to help her prepare for her testimony. Your problems with me have no bearing on her. You have a problem you talk to me."

"I'm sorry. When Don called I started thinking maybe she was right. I'm taking this case personally and instead of dealing with that I took it out on you and Elliot. Especially you."

"On Alex too. Who, quite frankly, has enough to deal with right now."

Casey has the good sense to look ashamed. She nods, and for once I can see contrition in her eyes.

"Problems at home?" I can't help being petty. Even though I know she's sorry, I'm still angry at the way she spoke to you.

Casey nods. "Serena is… upset. She's thinking of moving to Washington, joining a law-firm that specializes in equality law. I'm not really sure what's going to happen with us." She pauses, and I see her eyes soften, "I'm glad you got Alex back Detective. She'll be good for you. I doubt she lets you get away with much."

I can't help but chuckle. "No. Not a damn thing."

_Alex_

I didn't hear you come in. I was in a half-sleep, listening to the hum of the television Hammond is watching in the other room. I don't know you're home until I feel you slide into the bed next to me, stretching your arms around me, turning me gently to face you.

"Where's Hammond?"

"Agent Jack has gone back to the hotel, after making me swear not to let anything happen to you. I think he might have a crush on you."

"He just understands me more now I think. He told me today I remind him of his daughter."

"Wow, high praise coming from the fascist himself."

We fall quiet together, and I take a moment to enjoy that familiar safety of your arms around me. This is your specialty, making me feel protected.

"I talked to Novak before I left."

"Is she happy about Julie's testimony?"

"Yes." You pause and I can tell you want to tell me more.

"What?"

"She apologized. For getting angry at you, at us."

"Does she do that a lot?"

"Apologize? Casey? Never. I think she's just worried about Serena. Sounds like maybe she'll be leaving New York."

"I should call her. Serena, I mean. I haven't talked to her since I got back. I still can't believe Branch fired her. Seems bizarre."

"I don't know anything about it. I'm not really in the legal-gossip circuit. And I try to stay as far away from the likes of Branch and Donnelly as I can."

"Hmm.---- Olivia, what happens now?"

"What do you mean? You testify day after tomorrow, then Friday I thought maybe you'd like to listen to the closing, wait for the jury to come back. I asked Don for the day off."

"I don't know if I should stick around." You look surprised and I try to explain. "I thought maybe I should head back to Oregon for a little while, get things in order."

"You mean pack, sell the house? That sort of order?"

"Maybe."

You shake your head, your eyes full of questions. I know you didn't expect this.

"What do you mean, maybe? I thought you wanted this… I thought you wanted to come back. What about us?"

"I don't know what I want Olivia. I think maybe I got so excited about being with you again that I didn't stop to think about the rest of it."

"But Alex, I lo-- I stop you with a kiss, not ready to hear you say that right now.

"I know Livvy. It's just… for the first time in two years I actually have a choice. And I'm not sure what I want to do. It doesn't change how I feel about you. I'm just not sure how I feel about my life. Besides, what would I do here? Novak has my job, and it's not like there's a loft for me to move into again. All of my stuff is gone, and I'm certainly not going to move in with mother.

"I have a whole life in Oregon. Maybe it's not the best but it's a life. I wouldn't have to start over… again. And as far as 'us'… there are airplanes, and trains, and cars, and buses. Telephones and the internet. You know I'm alive, you know where I am."

"You have a whole life **here**, you can live **here**, Alex. We did it once before. And it'll be even better now, you know that. You can work independently, start a new law practice. Hell, with your background you could run for mayor for Christ's sake. Just… don't leave me again."

_Olivia_

I can't believe I'm hearing this. After all of this time, after all that we've talked about since you've been back… you're going to leave again?

"Livvy. Please. Just listen to me. I wouldn't be leaving you…"

"Really? That's funny since I don't remember having a clone in Oregon." I know I sound like a child, but the idea of losing you again terrifies me, and I feel like this is coming out of left field. I wasn't even remotely prepared. I just assumed that when you went back to Oregon next week it would be so that you could get ready to move back here.

"Olivia."

"Alex."

I can't stand this feeling. "Alex you can't just leave again. I thought this was the end. I thought we got to start over now. How can we start over if you go back all the way across the country?"

"Slowly. Like we did before."

"Alex we have never done **anything** slowly and you know it."

"Well, maybe that's our problem."

"Are you serious? Alex, don't blow all of our progress by dwelling on all the mistakes we've made-- the mistakes **I've** made! We finally have a real chance here."

"We can still have a relationship if I go back."

I want to believe you. I want to agree, to say that we could make it work. But I know better. I've waited for two years to get you back. And yes, I would have waited longer if I'd had to. But now you're here. And I can't do that again. Not now.

"No Alex, we can't. I can't spend my life waiting for you to come back to me."

_Alex_

"I'm not asking you to wait forever Olivia, just give me time."

"Yes, you are Alex. You're asking me to let you go away again, only this time, I get to let you go knowing you had the chance to come back every single day. I hated losing you the first time. It nearly killed me to be without you. I never got used to having to live every single day without you. The only reason I didn't go totally crazy is knowing that you would have come back if you could have.

"So now you're back and you're telling me that you want to go away again? I can't play this game Alex. I won't. I have to have a life too."

"Dammit Liv, you've had a life. You got to stay here, keep your job. Nobody had to call you by another name, you didn't have to change your hair, your eyes, everything. You didn't have a team of federal agents following you around. You didn't have to give up everything you ever wanted and lose everything you really loved."

"See, that's what you don't understand Lexi, I **did** lose everything. I **did** give up everything. I lost you. Twice, if you'll recall. First you died, and then they took you away. In the course of a week I lost my whole world twice. Maybe you had already walked out on us, but there was still a chance. There was always a chance, until you decided one trial was more important than everything else."

You don't say it but I know you're thinking something a little different. Thinking that I decided the Valez case was more important than you.

"Olivia, I love you. I love you and I can't tell you how glad I am to be here, with you, now. We both gave up so much because of Valez, and now we're both charging ahead without thinking about what we really want."

You interrupt-- "I know what I want Alex. I want you back with me. I **thought** that's what you wanted too."

"It is."

"So what is the problem? Why can't I be enough for you right now?"

I just don't know how to explain this to you. How can I explain something I don't really understand myself?

"Because nothing is enough for me right now. For the first time since I started going after Zapata and Valez, I have a chance to really live. I'm a ghost here Liv. I'm always going to be running into someone who knew me when. I'll always be forced to come up against the person I was before I died. Do you know why I haven't called Serena yet? Do you?"

You shake your head, and I can see you trying not to cry, surprised that you haven't pulled away from me during all of this arguing. I think maybe you're holding me tighter than when we started.

"Because calling Serena means having to tell her that I'm alive."

"I'm sure Casey's told her that by now."

"I know Liv, but it's different. How do you talk to someone who thinks you've been dead? I don't have the energy to explain my last two years a thousand times a week. If I go back to Oregon now, then maybe someday, if I decide to come back here, my reincarnation will already have made it through the gossip circles. Maybe if I wait to come back for good I can just start fresh here, and not have to remind people that I'm alive. Does that make any sense at all?"

"A little. But Alex, what if I can't wait that long?"

I wasn't really expecting this, but I suppose it's a fair question, given the circumstances.

"I guess I can't ask you to. You've certainly done more than your fair share of waiting for me." You're crying now, not bothering to brush at your cheeks. I hold you for a while, letting you adjust to the things I've said. As you cling to me I feel like I should say something, try and make it right…

"Look, I don't have to make a decision tonight. It was just… a thought."

"Right. So why did you say it then?" I barely understand the question beneath your sobs.

"Because if I decide to go back, I didn't want you to be surprised."

Your voice is nearly gone, and you respond in a hoarse whisper between tears, "I'm surprised."


	34. Advice

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Advice**

_Olivia_

I wake up before our alarm and crawl out from under your arm, careful not to wake you. I'm still in shock from your talk last night, and as much as I know I should stick around to talk to you this morning, I can't stand the thought of being here knowing you're going to leave me again.

I call Hammond and ask him to come early, that I need to get out for a bit before work. He sounds groggy, and annoyed, but he comes anyway.

"What do I say when she asks where you are?"

"Tell her I went for a walk before work."

"Look, detective, I don't know what she told you, but this is never easy. Some witnesses… they get used to the newness. Some don't. Honestly I thought this one was going to go crazy having to be somebody else, but that doesn't make it any easier to get back to what got left behind."

"Yeah well, I guess it doesn't much matter now anyway. She'll go back, pick up in Oregon, start fresh. I just thought she was in love with me. Guess we'll both survive this one."

"Detective…"

"Look, Hammond? Just do your job ok? Watch her until she's safe again, and leave it at that."

"Any messages for her?"

I think, trying to figure out something I could tell you. "Just… tell her I lover her ok? And maybe it would be best if you take her to the hotel until the trial's over. She'll be safer there once everyone knows she's back."

I know it's a cop out, and so does Hammond, but he can tell I don't want to fight about it, and the hand resting on my gun convinces him further. I leave the apartment without ducking in to kiss you goodbye the way I would have yesterday. I'll let you decide what you want without trying to sway your judgment.

I shove my badge and gun in the zip-up messenger bag I like to carry while I run. That way I have a spare t-shirt and deodorant and I can go straight from running to work without having to stop back home. I take off down the street, making a lazy jogger's path between my apartment and the station house across town. I use the time to think about what you told me last night.

I still can't believe you want to go back there. You spent all that time telling me how much you hated being in Oregon, hated your job, hated your name, hated your life. But now, two days before you're set to go back and get things ready to return to me, you think you want to stay there? I feel like I'm banging my head against a wall with you. Ever since we first started dating it's been this way… up and down and up and down, and usually it's my fault. I guess I had it coming. But I still don't understand why.

Something I said to you last night comes back to me as I approach the station.

_"Why can't I be enough for you right now?"_

_"Because nothing is enough for me right now…I'm a ghost here."_

The thing you don't see is that you're not a ghost to me. And I still feel like that should be enough. All I can do is hope that you change your mind. For the first time in years, I find myself saying a prayer. I don't think I can lose you again, especially not when it's your choice to leave.

_Alex_

I knew you were upset when I woke up to a cold bed. For a minute I'm immobilized by your absence. I hear movement in the living room, and I can only assume that you called Hammond to watch over me before you left. I can't help but wish I knew what was going through your mind right now. I should have kept my mouth shut, it's not as if I've made a decision about this, I just… didn't want to dump it on you at the last minute. I didn't want to call from Oregon in a week and tell you I wasn't coming back.

I shut off the alarm, and drag my body from the bed. I think this is the first time I've woken up with clothes on since I got back. It's not a feeling I'm enjoying. I strip in the bathroom, dropping my sweats in a hamper with your clothes. I should do laundry when I get back later. If I left it up to you we'd never have clean clothes. In the shower I step under a scalding hot stream, trying to wash away my fears. Today I have a meeting with Branch, and lunch with Donnelly. I'm not really looking forward to either of them. I'm hoping to have a chance to ask Donnelly about Serena's firing. She's usually up on all the good gossip-- but her versions generally have some root in the truth.

Thinking about talking to Donnelly reminds me that I need to actually call Serena. She's a good friend, when I was really frustrated by our relationship; Serena was the one I talked to. I told you last night that I don't want to call her because I'm not ready to explain myself again. You and the squad voiced your opinions about my going after Zapata, but none of you heard Serena. I'm a little afraid of an "I told you so." She likes those. Likes to be right. I'm just not sure I'm ready to see those too-blue eyes. Too green-eyes. It's a cop out-- but I can't help thinking the phone works both ways. Surely Casey's told her that I'm back, and knowing me the way she does, Serena would know to call me here. I use it as an excuse and decide to let her call me first.

My meeting with Branch is first, and I dress in clothes the old me had in spades: dark suit, light shirt, heels, hose, glasses of justice. heh Will there ever be anything in my life that doesn't immediately make me think of you? You must be at work by now, called out to a scene maybe? Or cleaning up paperwork? Are you and Elliot and Cragen finishing up the details of the Patterson case? Are you still angry? Still hurt? You're right, about the changes. I can't believe the differences I see in you now. A long time ago, our conversation last night would have made you pull away from me, made you sleep away from me, at the edge of our bed, not touching. But last night, even in your frustration and your pain and your surprise, you slept in my arms-- clinging to me.

So what do I do? Do I stay, just because I can see you're different? Do I stay just because I know how much you need me? Or do I take this opportunity to go back and figure out what I really want now that this is all over?

I finish dressing, step into the living room and see Hammond sitting at the kitchen table, waiting. "Sorry, I'm not late right?"

"No." He has a funny look on his face, something I don't recognize.

"What? What's wrong?"

"She went to work."

"I figured. Did she say something to you?"

Hammond shifts in his chair. I can tell he doesn't want to be in the middle of this.

"That she loves you…"

"And?" I know there's more, even without his hemming and hawing.

"Maybe it would be best if I take you to the hotel until the trial's over. She thinks you'll be safer there once everyone knows your back and testifying."

I nod curtly, knowing that's not why you want me away. It has nothing to do with my safety. You can keep me safer than any federally funded hotel room. This is about last night, and while I don't blame you I'm angry. This seems an awful lot like the "Old Olivia." Maybe I'm making the right choice after all.

_Olivia_

I'm halfway through my day, wading through old paperwork, trying to tie up loose ends and making a valiant effort not to think about you when I see Hammond striding into the bullpen. My stomach drops when I see that you're not with him. It's not like him to leave you alone… I don't think.

"Oh god… what happened? Where is she?"

"Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Oh my god. oh my god oh my god."

I lead him into Cragen's office and close the door.

"Hammond, where **is** she?"

"She's fine, at a meeting with… Arthur Branch? I left Rosco outside the door. He's good, don't worry."

"And you came here why? To scare the shit out of me?"

"I want to talk to you."

"About what?" Suddenly I'm starting to see what you mean about Hammond.

"About your girlfriend. I don't think you're handling this the right way."

"You have got to be kidding me. Look Hammond, I think you and I have had enough talks to last our entire lifetimes. If you recall, they don't end well. I generally end up losing my girlfriend and wanting to kill you."

Hammond doesn't listen to my protest, just launches off in his typical fashion, "I know how hard this is for you, and for her. I've watched people going into WPP for years. Working with the DEA you see it a lot. We don't see as many people come out of it though, not just because the danger doesn't go away, but because a lot of these people, like Miss Cabot, find it difficult to return to a life that didn't stop moving when they left.

"It's especially hard for someone like your girlfriend. Not only has the world kept going without her, but there's someone new doing her job, her old home is now someone else's, she has friends and family who may never find out she didn't die, even if she **does** come back. And if she returns to the legal profession, she will forever have to explain to people that she is in fact, **that** Alex Cabot, that she is in fact, **not** dead, and everyday she's going to be confronted with her own ghost. It's not an easy prospect to consider."

"And what about me Agent Hammond? Huh Jack? Maybe the world didn't stop moving without her, but I did. I did my job, I handled my cases, I lived day in and day out. But I was stalled, for two years." I can't help my anger. "For the first time in two years I feel like my life is moving forward **with** me for a change. And now she wants me to put everything on hold again and wait? No. I'm done waiting."

"And if she left, you'd what, find someone else?"

"Maybe." It's a lie and he knows it.

_Alex_

My meeting with Branch is… typical. Mostly. He seems, like a lot of the people I've encountered, to be vaguely uncomfortable with my presence. I almost wish you were here to see it, then maybe you'd understand what I was talking about last night.

"Well, do you feel you're ready for the trial tomorrow Alexandra?"

I squirm in the chair across from Arthur's desk, at once uncomfortable, and yet… not feeling like I've been gone for all that long. "As ready as I can be I suppose."

"How does it feel to be on the other side of the witness stand?"

"I don't know yet, I don't testify until tomorrow."

"Don't split hairs with me Alexandra. What are your plans now that it's over?"

Ah, the famous question.

"I haven't really decided that yet. I'm flying back to Oregon on Monday."

"And will you be returning to New York, or have you chosen to continue your new life?"

"Well, that's sort of… up in the air right now. There's a lot to consider."

"It's not like you to straddle the fence Alexandra. What's the problem?"

"It's complicated."

"You're used to complicated. You never did know when you were getting in over your head. That never used to stop you from charging in anyway."

"There are certain… relationships to consider this time. And a job, which I don't have here anymore obviously."

"What exactly have you been doing in… where is it, Oregon?"

I nod. "Legal assistance to an Oregon based national company. Mostly I provide basic legal advice and defense strategies for corporate misdeeds."

"And you enjoy this job?"

"No. But it's as close to the law as they'd let me get. So I took it."

"Well, I'd offer you a position here, but as you know we've just replaced Serena and Casey seems to be taking to her position fairly well."

That's not what I've heard, but I don't challenge Branch.

"So, what do you think of Serena's replacement?" It's a fishing question, and Arthur knows it.

"I didn't fire her because she's gay Alexandra."

"I didn't say anything."

"It was implied. You forget I know the way your head works."

"Well, since you brought it up, are you sure it's not because she's gay? How did you find out anyway?"

"At the last black tie fundraiser she brought a date, a statement."

"A date?" I'm surprised since Casey seemed to imply that she and Serena had been together for a while. Although it wouldn't surprise me to have Serena leave Casey at home and bring a backup as a statement.

"Yes. But that's not why she was fired Alexandra, so get that thought out of your head. She's better off on the other side of the table. And as I'm sure you're aware, there are other gay attorneys in this office. Attorneys who have **not** been fired."

"I wasn't questioning your judgment Arthur. In fact, if you'll recall you're the one who brought up the question of her sexuality."

Branch startles me by laughing. "Noone can argue semantics like you, Alexandra. You're missed here."

"Yeah. Well…" I sneak a look at my watch and realize that I have to go if I'm going to meet Liz for lunch.

"Alexandra, when you get back, if you come back… come talk to me. If nothing else I can certainly give you a recommendation."

"Thanks Arthur."

"Good luck tomorrow."

I leave the office, surprised to find Rosco waiting instead of Hammond.

"Where's Jack?"

"He had a thing."

"A thing?"

"A thing."

"Jason…" My tone implies a certain threat.

"He went to talk to your girlfriend."


	35. Testify

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Testify**

_Olivia_

It's odd, being back here without you after the last few days. I can't believe you've been back less than a week and we're already fighting again. At least this time I don't feel responsible. I wish that meant I also didn't feel guilty, but I do. You have your friend agent Hammond to thank for that. Nothing like being dressed down by a federal agent to get the wheels turning.

It looks like you got the message this morning. Your dirty clothes are still in the hamper, but your bags are gone. If your leather jacket wasn't still slung over the chair in the bedroom, I could almost forget you were ever here. Well… almost. I can still smell you in my bed, and I curl into your side, my head on your pillow, trying to figure out how this happened again.

Tomorrow, you have to testify against Valez' assassin. It took me awhile to realize that you and Tonio are witnesses for the same case. I guess I've been distracted. Monday the trial starts on the three mousketeers who raped Sophie. Julie called and asked if I'd meet her and her mother for lunch on Monday afternoon. They want to meet with Sophie's mother and talk about everything that's happened. I didn't have the heart to say no. You'll be on your way back to Oregon then. Leaving me again.

I pitch around in the bed for a few hours, then give up on sleep. I pad barefoot into the living room and curl up on the couch in my sweatpants, tank top… and your leather jacket. Maybe I was too hard on you last night. The things Hammond said today made sense, in an annoying sort of way. Last night I accused you of not understand where I was coming from. But I think I'm guilty of the same thing. I'm not sure why I thought it would be easier having you back.

I flip lazily through the TV stations, not really looking for anything in particular. Most of the shows this late are infomercials, and since I really think my current knife set is just fine, and my thighs are toned just the way you like them… I turn the TV back off. I feel restless, and nervous. I'm worried about the trial, worried about you. Everyone at work has been dancing around it all week, not asking the questions they know I don't want to answer. I've been trying to pretend it wasn't happening. Acknowledging this trial means thinking about when you left, and despite all of our discussion, we both want to leave it in the past. I'm starting to feel like maybe you want to leave us in the past too.

Maybe you're right, maybe after all of this I just can't be enough for you. I guess I'd just feel better if you'd let me try. I know I should sleep. I still have piles of paperwork to do, things that got shoved aside while I was trying to get evidence for Casey last week, and while I was spending time with you this week. If I want to get to the courthouse in time to watch you testify, I need to keep my head together while I'm at work.

I return to the bedroom and lie down… not bothering to take off your jacket, pretending it's your arms around me. I lie awake this way until my alarm goes off at six. At work I push papers around on my desk, sitting in silence across from Elliot while Munch and Fin go to a scene. At two, Cragen pulls me into his office.

"Well?"

"Well what Captain?"

"Shouldn't you be getting over to the courthouse?"

"I don't think I should go. I kind of get the feeling she wants to do this on her own."

"Trouble at home Benson?"

"No. Just…"

"I've known you for a lot of years Detective. And although Alex wasn't my favorite person to begin with it'd take an idiot to deny the fact that she's good for you."

"She's the one that got me to quit drinking."

"I figured as much. So what's the problem?"

"She's going back to Oregon on Monday."

"And?"

"And she may not come back."

Cragen leans back in his seat, staring me down.

"So what are you going to do? Do I need to start looking for a new detective?"

I'm blindsided. It never occurred to me that I could go with you. Probably because we both know I could never leave New York.

"I could never leave New York. Don't worry Don, I'm not going anywhere."

"I can imagine that Alex said the very same thing a few years ago."

It's something I never even considered. The fact that he's right stings. And it makes me think that maybe the key is giving you a real reason to stay behind.

"I've gotta go. Most of those files are done, Elliot's working on the rest, I'll get Fin to cover the end of my shift. Am I still off tomorrow?"

"Yes. But Olivia, don't do anything you'll regret, ok?"

I just hope it's not too late for that.

_Alex_

I look out from the stand and hope to see you sitting in the observation section, but all I see is Casey in front of me, waggling her eyebrows, and trying to make a point. I think I've found the missing passion. She does a decent job in the courtroom, but I can still hear things I think she should be asking, points she should be making. I recite my testimony, talking about the car the shooter was driving, about my knowledge of Valez' threats, of Zapata's organization. I keep trying to see beyond Casey, trying to find you and seeing only the faces of Hammond and Rosco, then watching Liz enter and sit in the back, not sure if she's here to see me or Novak as she seems to be splitting her attention between the two of us.

By the time I'm done I'm exhausted. I'm used to asking questions, not being interrogated, and the defense lawyer is brutal, calling me back to the night of the shooting, questioning my memory. I have to bite my tongue to keep from snapping at him, telling him it's hard to forget certain things when your girlfriend is standing above you watching you die.

When I'm dismissed, Hammond and Rosco flank me, taking me out of the courtroom and into the hall… where I finally see you.

_Olivia_

The look on your face is of sheer relief as you see me waiting in the hall. You shake off the goons -- I suppose I should stop calling them that now-- and run to me, the stress of this day wiping out our last argument.

"It's over Lexi, it's ok. It's all over now. It's out of your hands."

I've been sitting next to Tonio on the bench, waiting for you to return. You pull away from me and hand something to him, wiping tears from your eyes, trying to show him a brave face.

"You can do this Tonio. Don't worry, it's easy. Just tell them the truth."

He nods, still looking frightened, and taking back what looks like a coin on a small silver chain.

"Can we go home now Livvy?"

"Yeah, yes… let's go. Do you need to tell Liz anything before you go? Or talk to Arthur?"

"No. I just want to go."

"Ok… ok." I nod to Hammond and a younger gentleman I can only assume is Jason Rosco. "I'll take her back to my place. We'll call."

Hammond nods and walks away with Rosco.

I lead you from the courthouse, to find Elliot waiting with the sedan outside.

"What are you doing here?"

"Cragen thought you might need a lift home. May I?"

He opens the backdoor and holds it open as I crawl in behind you.

"How did it go?"

"It was fine Elliot. Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime Alex. You think the ID will stick?"

"If Tonio gets up and is able to tell them what he knows without getting railroaded by the defense, I think our combined testimony will kill the guy."

"What happens now?"

I feel you lean your head against my shoulder, shifting your weight against me, settling into my body next you on the backseat. I reach a hand around your shoulder, pulling you to me, and playing with the ends of your hair.

"We haven't really decided that yet El. We both have a lot of thinking to do."

"When are you moving back Alex?"

I can feel you tensing in my arms,

"Alex may stay in Oregon for awhile. Decide what she wants to do."

You tilt your head to look at me, wondering if you heard correctly.

I lean and whisper that I decided you were right, which is not easy for me to admit. I don't want to let you go again.

Elliot doesn't respond, but insists on walking us to the door when we reach my apartment. As I lock the door behind him you pull me into a tight hug. "Did you mean it?"

"Hammond came to see me yesterday. He had some … valid points to make. I think maybe I've been rushing you into coming back this week."

"Olivia, it's not like I don't want to come back. I just need to know that I'm doing it because I **want** to, and not just because I **can**. I need to know I have something to come back to."

"What about me?"

"Well, you're a huge incentive, that's true. But to paraphrase, 'one cannot live by love alone.' I need to decide what to do now. And I need that to include more than just you. You know that. We'd drive each other crazy if I was stuck here all day with nothing to do. And the odds are with you-- I don't get to carry a gun."

I can't help but chuckle at your logic. You have a point. And as much as I feel like I could get used to you puttering around the house all day, I definitely wouldn't want you to take over in the kitchen. Experience has shown that cooking is not your forte. I'm a little afraid that you'd experiment if you had nothing else to do. A memory of homemade teriyaki comes to mind and makes me cringe.

"Teriyaki?" How do you always know what I'm thinking?

"Yup."

"Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine. But you're right. You could never be happy just hanging around the house. And I couldn't ask you to do it."

"Maybe not never Olivia, just… not right now. Right now I've spent too much time living by someone else's rules. It's time for me to make my own."

It's the same thing you told me night before last, but this time I'm a little more receptive.

"How long?"

"I'm not sure. A month, two months, six? Maybe a year."

"A year?" Despite my understanding, the thought of a year between us knocks my breath out.

"I don't know Livvy, I just need to do this. I won't ask you to wait for me."

"I'll wait. I mean, I can wait. What else can I do? You deserve this. Just… don't forget that I'm here ok?"

You lean in towards me, taking my hands in yours, pulling me closer,

"Not in a million years."

_Alex_

It's amazing how quickly we stop fighting. Yesterday we slept on opposites sides of town, and I thought maybe I'd have to leave without even getting to say goodbye. I can't help wondering exactly what Hammond said to you yesterday. I'll have to make a point to thank him before I go.

I pull away from a particularly delicious kiss to continue our talk. Which is, admittedly… difficult. How on earth do you do this to me?

"Does the offer about tomorrow still stand?"

You look as sorry about the broken kiss as I feel. And I can see that lusty depth in your eyes. "You mean about watching the closing? Of course. I checked with the Captain and I have the day off if I want it. Are you sure you want to be there?"

Yesterday I would have said no. The way this turns out may take the choice back out of our hands. If for some reason the jury doesn't buy Tonio's ID, or my testimony… I'll have to go back. No choice. Forever. And it'll mean moving again. Too many people know where I was. You and I both know that tomorrow could end all of this arguing for us. And all of the bliss too.

"I think it's important for me to be there. I don't want to hear it from Hammond, or anyone else. If this goes wrong… I want to know right away."

"It won't go wrong Alex. They'll give him the death penalty; they'll kill him, you have to believe that."

"And if they don't? If they let him go?"

You pause, taking my hand again and pulling me to you, and I put my head on your shoulder.

"Then **I'll** kill him."


	36. Verdict

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Verdict**

_Olivia_

Last night was sweet, talking until we fell asleep together, making plans for when you finally feel ready to come back. Turns out you've been thinking about what I said about starting your own law firm. You were in the middle of talking about how you'd decorate the office when we drifted off to sleep.

The alarm came too early this morning, and neither of us is really ready to go to the courthouse. Casey's closing starts at nine, and if all goes well, the verdict won't take long. The jury either believes the IDs or they don't. If they do, then the only other thing that needed to be proven was his danger, and your testimony should do that. To me, it seems fairly cut and dried, but I'm still nervous about today, and I know you are too. Last night is the first time I remember you having nightmares. Usually you're the one taking care of me at night, but at 2am I found myself staring at your beautiful face, contorted by… what? Fear? Pain? Anxiety? I'm not sure.

We take separate showers and get dressed. When I put on my belt holster and tuck my badge in my jacket pocket you shoot me a look. I promised you last night that if this jury didn't do their job, I would. I guess you didn't think I meant it literally. I refuse to lose you to this again. I know you're going back, but I won't let this end forever. As for whether or not I could actually pull the trigger or not… I don't know. I'd like to think I'd do whatever it took to protect you, even at the expense of my job, of my freedom. I cross my fingers and hope it doesn't come to that.

You dress in jeans, pulling out one of my work tees, and topping it off with one of my old leather coats. It's one I nearly threw out last year because it's been worn threadbare. I'm glad I didn't get rid of it, it was always your favorites and I can tell you need that comfort today. I pull out my favorite jeans and a button-down shirt. A similar jacket goes around my shoulders, pulled closed at the front to hide my piece. If you weren't looking at me so disapprovingly I'd almost laugh at this cloak-and-dagger feeling. I can't help wanting to protect you. This is the only way I know how. It won't matter if we get the guilty verdict. It will all be over soon.

When we're both done dressing I head to the kitchen for some orange juice, but you stop me before I get to the coffeepot.

"No coffee?"

"I think I'm jittery enough without caffeine today. Orange juice?"

I pour us matching glasses and we sit without speaking again. Our anxiety is palpable, as if there were a third person in the room. I finish my glass, and you hand me your half-full one. After rinsing them in the sink, I come up behind where you're waiting at the front door. You turn to face me and I can read the tension in your jaw. Your eyes are full of fear, and the look on your face breaks my heart.

In a copy of last night, I pull you to my body, your head settled on my shoulder. I hadn't realized until now that you're shaking.

"No matter what happens Alex, we'll get through this. But you'll see, they won't let him go. I won't let them take you away from me for good. I promise."

I can feel you nodding against my shoulder, still quivering in my arms. I don't think I've ever seen you quite this scared, not even the night we first heard the threats against you. I can understand why. Back then, annihilation was just a theory, but now we've been there. And we're both terrified that it could happen again, all it takes is one jury. Just one.

_Alex_

I can't think this morning. Can't eat. I feel like my whole life is riding on this. Probably because it is. I don't approve of you bringing your gun. You know how I feel about that, but I don't try to stop you. Last night you said you'd kill him if they let him go. At first I thought you were just trying to make me feel better, but the gun strapped on your belt tells a different story. I know it's meant to make me feel safe but for some reason, the sight of it makes me even more frightened. The fact that you're carrying it makes me think you're as worried as I am.

One jury. That's all that's standing between me and my freedom. In a way, I almost feel like I'm the one on trial. But for me, the words "not guilty" are the prison sentence. If Casey can't convince a jury that this is the man who was hired to kill me, I go back to WPP. Just because Zapata is dead and Valez is out of the picture doesn't erase the hit. The assassin has already been paid. They don't like to leave loose ends.

I don't bother to finish the orange juice you poured me. My stomach has enough acid churning already without help. I wait for you by the door as you wash our glasses. When I feel you behind me I turn around, needing to see in your eyes that you'll be with me. One look at my face finds your hands pulling me to you, my head on your shoulder again. Despite my thick borrowed tee, and your old leather jacket, I'm shivering. Shaking from my nerves and my fear and the anticipation of this day. The feel of your arms around me is nice, but not enough to knock away my fears.

"No matter what happens Alex, we'll get through this. But you'll see, they won't let him go. I won't let them take you away from me for good. I promise."

I nod, not pulling away from your embrace. We stand for a moment, my body wrapped up in you, and when I feel like I can hold myself up on my own again, I pull away from. We walk out the door, and you take my hand. Like last night, Elliot is waiting outside. We fall silent in the car, Elliot playing chauffeur, my hand clenched tightly in yours, our fingers laced together between us. You sit awkwardly, facing slightly inward towards me, your left knee and thigh so close to my right that we're almost connected, your free hand on my knee, patting me absently. I'm surprised to see camera crews at the courthouse, hadn't stopped to think that the return of a once-murdered ADA would be newsworthy. Elliot pushes a way for us through the crowd, and instead of dropping your hand like the old me would have done, I clutch you even tighter, letting your muscle pull me safely through the throng.

"Miss Cabot, how does it feel to be back?"

"Miss Cabot, do you think the jury will convict?"

"Miss Cabot, what happens if the verdict is returned not guilty?"

"Miss Cabot, will you be returning to New York when this is over?"

The questions fly from every angle, I wasn't expecting this push. You push cameramen away, flinging "no comment" to every reporter who comes close with a microphone. If I'd known, I would have waited at home for a phone call.

No. I couldn't have waited that way. I need to be here. To hear it for myself, one way or another. We break through the cluster of reporters, and after their yelling and pushing, the courthouse seems eerily silent. I see Hammond and Rosco waiting by the doors to the courtroom, and Elliot stops to shake hands as you put an arm around my shoulder, the other on my arm, almost shielding me. Hammond nods and Rosco smiles, and the five of us enter the courtroom quietly, to see Casey at the table, getting ready. My assassin isn't here yet, but his lawyer sits across from Casey, looking not even slightly worried.

I try to tell myself that plenty of defense lawyers don't look worried before they lose, but I'm not convinced today. Casey turns at our entry and smiles confidently at me, nodding to you beside me. Your left arm lies on the back of the bench behind me, left hand cupped around my shoulder. With your right hand you stretch across your body, holding mine tightly, neither of us willing to let go. Elliot sits to your right, and Hammond and Rosco to my left. I'm surrounded by protection and still I feel unsafe as the bailiff brings in my attacker. He's dressed in a fancy suit, and I can't help thinking I helped him to afford it. From what the federal agents were able to ascertain Valez paid a hefty price to have me out of the way. My only real threat to his organization being my unwillingness to give up on Lydia's case, my unwillingness to let justice for her death go unfought.

Casey's arguments are brief, to the point. Her voice softens and hardens in all the right places. She addresses the jury and the judge. She is succinct, to the point. She touches on all of the things I would have were the situation reversed. I still don't like her, but at least I feel as though she can do the job.

The defense counsel brings up Tonio's state of mind, calling into question his ability to question someone he constantly refers to as "the ghost." How can someone identify a ghost? He looks at me as he reminds the jury that I didn't see who shot me. That I don't remember a license plate number. He questions my ability to identify the voice of the man who agreed to pay me a visit after speaking to Zapata. His points are valid, and I can see how the jury might be swayed.

I feel you squeezing my shoulder, your grip on my hand pulling it into your lap. I don't want to speculate about the look on my face. I feel terrified. I'm sure it shows. Closing arguments are brief, which surprises me. As the jury files out for deliberations, I feel you pulling me out of my seat, drawing me back to the hallway. We sit together on a bench outside the door, and the pose feels… familiar somehow.

You break our silence as Hammond, Rosco and Elliot go to retrieve some coffee.

"Casey did a good job today."

I nod. "So did Travis. If I hadn't been the one who got shot, I'd almost have bought it."

"The jury didn't."

"Really?" I wasn't watching the jury. I'm used to trying to gauge their reactions to things, trying to figure out when I've lost them, or won them. Today, all I could do is stare at the man who tried to kill me. Stare at the man who **did** kill me.

"The glasses of justice would have been waggling."

I try to laugh. "You think so?"

"Definitely." I know you're trying, but we can both tell you're as nervous as I am. You continue quietly, almost whispering.

"If. and I do mean **if** they come back not guilty." I whip my head up to meet your eyes. "**If**, Alex. I'll come back with you."

"What?"

"I'll come back with you, to Oregon. You won't have do this all alone again."

"They'll move me."

"I know."

"We could end up in some Podunk town in the middle of North Dakota, or Alaska."

"I don't care. I won't let this take you away from me forever."

"What about that?" I gesture to the butt of your gun, exposed as your jacket falls open slightly.

"It's more of a prop for confidence. I'd like to say I could use it Lexi, but I just don't know. And if I did, would it make me any better than he was? I'm sure Casey would enjoy the chance to prosecute me. But then we just end up separated again."

I nod again. I seem to be finding myself without words a lot today. We fall silent as the men come back with coffee for us, and tea for you. Elliot talks with Hammond and Rosco, and you and I sit together on the bench, our drinks untouched, free hands still clinging to each other. After about two hours, Elliot has to go home. Kathy's let him have the kids again for the weekend, and we all know he has to clean up his sty of a house and buy some real groceries before they get there. You were right about his weight loss, and the circles under his eyes have only gotten bigger since I got here. I can see why you're worried about him. He kisses me sweetly on the cheek before he goes, and claps you on the back, telling us it will all be ok.

We spend the rest of the time waiting silently. Rosco and Hammond occasionally going off for more coffee, taking turns getting food from the courthouse cafeteria. But you and I stay still. About an hour after bringing them to us, Rosco collects our still full, now-cold cups and throws them out. When we've been waiting for four hours, you lean in to speak in my ear.

_Olivia_

"Do you want to go? We can wait at home, you know Casey will call us."

You shake your head, than lean to rest it on my shoulder. I can feel you sigh against me, and I tuck my arm behind your shoulders and use my hand to tuck you closer to me. It's a sweet pose, and we stay this way for a while, growing tired of the waiting.

"What could possibly be taking so long?"

"I don't know Lexi. I don't know."

After five hours that feel like an eternity, Casey appears out of the doorway,

"They're back."

You pull your head off my shoulder and I squeeze your hand before we file back inside. I'm trying to be strong for you, but I don't feel it. One way or another, this is all about to end.

_Alex_

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"We have your honor."

"In the matter of The People versus Liam Connors, how do you find the defendant?"

I feel as though the whole courtroom has stopped moving. I look at the jury, then at Connors at the defense table. I try to see Casey, suddenly aware that the whole courtroom has erupted. I watch the scene in silence, suddenly unable to hear what's happening. It's not until I see you reaching for me, pulling me up from the bench, your face lit up, grinning ear to ear that I realize what's happened.

"Livvy?"

"Alex-- we won. They convicted him. It's over baby. It's over."

And suddenly I'm sobbing. Crying like I never have before, not able to understand. I feel my knees go numb, and then the feeling of being pulled towards the ground. It's odd, I don't think I've ever fainted before. The last thing I remember seeing is a flash of panic rolling through your eyes. I try to tell you something but no words come out. And then, like once before… blackness.


	37. Panic

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Panic**

_Olivia_

As soon as I pull you off the bench I can see something's wrong.

"Livvy?"

"Alex-- we won. They convicted him. It's over baby. It's over."

You look confused for a minute, and then I see your eyes start to roll, and feel your weight dragging towards the floor.

"Alex? ALEX!

"Hammond! Rosco, something's wrong! CASEY!"

I hear Casey's heels clicking across the courtroom, their pace clipped and quick.

"Olivia, what happened?"

"I don't know she just… went down. Jesus. Alex? Baby can you hear me?"

Your body is lolling in my arms, and somewhere in the back of my mind I think you've fainted. But the sight of you collapsed terrifies me and I can't bring it to the front.

"Somebody call a bus!"

"Olivia, hold on. Maybe she just fainted."

"I don't care Casey. Just call."

"Olivia…"

"DO IT!"

Casey pulls out her cell phone and calls for a bus, then clicks over to call Elliot.

I'm sitting on the floor, squatting awkwardly because you fell and took me with you, and I can't bear to put you down. And even when the EMS team comes in I don't let you go, just scoop you up and take you to the gurney they've brought in. I'm worried that you haven't woken up yet. I hold your clammy hand in mine as they wheel you to the waiting ambulance, trying to push me out of the way.

Elliot arrives just in time, and with a little show of his gun and badge convinces the paramedic that I'm riding along, promising to meet us at the hospital. When the paramedic mentions that you look pale I start to cry, scared to death that something is seriously wrong. Why didn't I notice this? Why didn't I notice that you weren't feeling well?

My mind flashes back over the last week, imagining all kinds of signs that I missed, wondering if I've pushed you too hard, made you do too much when you were already stressed about this day.

"Alex… please baby wake up. Jesus, don't leave me again, please Alex. Lexi. Lexi you have to wake up now."

The paramedics work around me, checking pressures and heartbeats, not telling me anything. When we get to the hospital they whisk you away from me, asking me who needs to be called, refusing to tell me anything.

"Detective Benson, I understand that you're concerned, but we need to know who to call."

"You don't need to call anyone, I'm here."

"A family member?"

"Her mom lives in Long Island. But I don't remember the phone number."

Elliot comes up behind me, handing the youngish doctor a slip of paper. "This is the number." The doctor hurries away to make his calls, leaving me desperate for some shred of information.

"Olivia what happened? Casey said she fainted, why are we here?"

"I don't know Elliot. God." I'm crying again, distraught. "They read the verdict and she didn't react for a minute. I pulled her up… pulled her up to hug her and she moved her lips. I kept saying we won and then she… she just… fell."

"I'm sure she just fainted, Liv… it'll be ok."

"Why didn't she wake up again? She should have woken up again."

"It's going to be ok."

"Why wouldn't they tell me anything?"

"It's going to be ok. She just fainted Liv. It'll be ok."

I can barely speak, but Elliot still hears me, "What if it's not?"

_Alex_

I can hear you yelling at Casey. Then feel you clutching my hand as my body bumps on the gurney in the ambulance. Every once in a while I hear one of the paramedics saying something, but mostly it's just black. I can't figure out why I'm so tired all of a sudden. I want to open my eyes, want to look at you, but I can't lift the lids.

I finally give up on trying to fight whatever this is, and I succumb to my exhaustion as I hear you begging me to wake up.

_Olivia_

Your mother arrives with her usual dignity, asking curt questions and terrifying nurses. I find myself squashed in waiting room chairs between her and Elliot, still crying. She has been cordial, but brief. Kinder to Elliot. I can't help thinking she knows about us and isn't thrilled. I sort of expected that though.

When the young doctor comes out to speak to her, I start to get up but Elliot stops me with his hand.

"Elliot. Let me go. I need to hear this."

"She'll tell you in a minute."

"You mean she'll tell **you** in a minute."

"Yes well, I haven't been sleeping with her daughter."

"Screw you."

"Glad to see you're getting your attitude back."

Your mother stands in front of us, arms crossed, speaking only to Elliot.

"The doctor says she's exhausted. She developed an irregular heartbeat, only temporary… stress-related. As closely as they can speculate she … missed a beat or some such nonsense in the courtroom and it caused her to faint."

"Is… is she going to be all right?" My voice quivers, still terrified.

She directs her answer to Elliot, "She needs to rest. Undisturbed." Now she shoots a look my way. "If she stays stable through the night they'll talk about releasing her tomorrow. I'm going to ask the federal agent to postpone her flight back to Oregon. Then when she's released I'll take her home until she leaves."

"No."

For the first time, your mother turns to look directly at me.

"I beg your pardon?"

I still my voice, trying to be calm. "When they release her, she's coming back to the apartment with me. I'm sure she'll be glad that you're concerned Mrs. Cabot, but I can take care of my girlfriend myself."

I can see your mother's anger seething. "Listen, Detective. I've heard all about you. And while at one time I thought perhaps I could indulge Alexandra's little … charity project, clearly you can't care for her properly."

"Charity project? Charity project! I'm not a charity project, I'm her girlfriend. I love her."

"Alexandra is famous for picking up strays. She always liked to have an orphan around to help."

Elliot's hand barring my chest is the only thing preventing me from ripping your mother's head off her lily-white neck. "It's not worth it Liv."

I don't bother trying to shake him off, toning down my rage to a rolling boil. "At least I'm not an uptight, hypocritical bitch who can't accept her own daughter, even after she's lost her once already."

Your mother looks stricken and I know I've hit a nerve. I should feel bad, but I don't, I'm too worried about you.

_Alex_

I wake up to the sound of a coat rustling beside the bed. At first, I think it's you, getting ready to crawl in with me. But as I blink my eyes against the harsh white light, I realize it's someone in a white lab coat, staring at a monitor besides me. It takes a minute for me to figure out where I am. I remember being in court, watching Casey's closing, then waiting outside for the verdict. Did we hear it?

I look to my left, expecting to see you there. Instead, my mother sits perched delicately on a dirty plastic hospital chair. The kind that are supposed to look comfortable for visitors but never are.

"Mo--" my mouth is dry and it takes me a few tries to actually make a noise.

"Mother?"

"Alexandra. I'm glad you're awake."

"Mother where's Olivia?"

"Your _detective_ friend is waiting in the waiting room. She slept out there all night. She absolutely refuses to leave."

"Is she ok?"

"She's obstinate, ornery, and exceedingly rude. Why on earth are you friends with her?"

"Because I love her mother. We've had this discussion before."

"Don't get worked up Alexandra. They've already decided to keep you an extra night as it is."

"I want to see Olivia mother."

"I'm afraid I can't allow that Alexandra, it's not proper. It's time you abandoned this little project."

"She's not a project mom, she's my girlfriend."

"Alexandra when are you going to give up this ridiculous notion."

"It's not a notion mother, I'm gay. And I'm a grown woman besides."

"Calm down Alexandra."

"If you want me to calm down then you'll leave. And on your way out you'll send in my girlfriend. She's probably beside herself with worry, unlike some people."

She looks as though I might have actually hurt her feelings, but for once I'm not concerned with making my mother happy. She stalks out of the room without another word. As she leaves, a doctor enters and fills me in on the details. I stop listening at the sight of you leaning in the doorway. You're trying to look nonchalant, but I can tell you didn't sleep last night. Your eyes are underlined with black rings

"I saw your mother."

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok. I'm more worried about you than her."

"The doctor says I'll be fine. That it was a freak thing, brought on by stress."

"Is that true Doc?"

He hesitates, unsure of what he can tell you. "It's all right. She's family."

"If she stays calm, out of trouble, she should be fine. I'd make a point to watch her blood pressure in the future. But I see no reason for there to be a repeat of yesterday's swan dive. From what I understand all of your lives have been extraordinarily stressful of late. All of the tests indicate that once life resumes to a more normal place, Miss Cabot should be perfectly fine."

"Thank you." Your voice is so sincere, and the doctor, who can't be more than 25, blushes at your gratitude, and then hurries out to his next patient as you sit on the side of the bed, careful of the fluid IV they've put in my arm.

"How do you feel?"

"Silly. All this over a little faint?"

"It wasn't a little faint Lexi."

I ignore you, asking the question I'm most afraid of.

"What was the verdict?"


	38. Care

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: Care**

_Olivia_

You ignore my attempt to broach the subject of your "faint" and surprise me with a question.

"What was the verdict?"

"What?"

"The verdict Liv, what did they say?

Even though the news is good, I'm afraid to tell you. I'm still not convinced this is as cut-and-dried as the doctor said. You can see I'm stalling, and it's only when I notice a panic rising behind your too-blue eyes that I tell you,

"Guilty. It's all over now. Casey came by last night to tell me the judge didn't even stop to think. Once he calmed the courtroom down he immediately invoked the death penalty. Connors doesn't have a chance."

"Really?"

"Really. We're free now. You can do… whatever it is you want to do."

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, and your relief is palpable. I'm expecting you to speak, but you don't. How do you look so small all of a sudden? You never get tired of teasing that you're two inches taller than I am. But here you look… I don't know-- tiny. It hits me again; that I could have lost you, and my tears join yours.

When Elliot knocks at the door we wipe our eyes like idiots, sniffling together, then laughing as we both imagine the picture we must make.

"How're my favorite girls?"

"Fine El. It's going to be ok."

"So I hear."

I tilt my head in a question, and Elliot looks at Alex. "Uh… your mom talked to me on the way out."

I can hear you groan, but I don't think Elliot does. "What did she say?"

"She wanted me to arrest Olivia."

"What?" We speak at the same time.

"Undue influence or some nonsense … I don't know Alex, I wasn't really listening."

"What did you tell her?"

"Love isn't a criminal offense and she should feel blessed that her daughter has someone who's willing to risk everything to be with her." He blushes, and I can't help sharing a smile with you.

"Thanks Elliot."

"To serve and protect right? So, what's the word? Your mom said something about staying an extra night?"

"They just want to make sure it really was a fluke, and not an indication of something more serious. They'll probably send me home tomorrow. Hammond already pushed back my flight, so I'm here until Wednesday. That gives us a chance to talk about our plans, make some decisions." You squeeze my hand at the word us. I can't help feeling I'm not going to like this conversation.

"Well look, I've gotta get back to the kids, Maureen's tolerance for her siblings is limited, and I'm a little afraid she'll tie the littlest one to a chair and bring over her boyfriend if I leave them too long." He shakes his head, but we both know he's thrilled to get the chance to see them.

"What's the word from Kathy?" You really are braver than I am.

"There is none. I can't really get her to talk to me. Last time I told her not communicating wasn't solving anything, and her response was 'that's my line'. Guess it serves me right. All these years… look- I envy you, both of you. At the end of the day there's someone who understands. There's no horror to hide."

Elliot's voice is sad, and I leave your side for a moment to give him an awkward hug. "It'll be all right El."

"Yeah, maybe. Look guys, I gotta run. See you Monday Liv?"

"Yeah. Tell the kids I said hi."

"Sure. Take it easy Alex, no more scares ok?"

"I'll try detective." I'm back at your side, sliding your hand back into mine, and I don't notice Elliot leave because I'm lost inside the ocean of your eyes.

_Alex_

After Elliot leaves, we stay quiet, taking each other in. I can tell you're still scared, and knowing you the way I do I know you're imagining all the things that could have gone wrong yesterday.

"They did all the tests there were to do Liv, I'm going to be fine."

"You scared me Lexi. I didn't know what had happened you just... collapsed. This time there were no gunshots to blame, just you… on the ground. You have to stop doing this to me."

"I'm sorry Livvy."

"It's ok Alex." You pause and I wonder what you're thinking. I don't have to wonder long.

"What happens now?"

"Well, I'll need a place to stay until Wednesday, and I don't think I'll be the most welcome visitor at Cabot Castle, so…."

"You know you don't have to ask. But I really meant what you want to do after Wednesday."

I knew what you were asking. I was hoping a stall technique would work.

"Well, after Wednesday I go back to Oregon."

"Did you make a decision?"

"Yes." But you won't like it.

"And?"

"I'm going to stay there for awhile."

There's silence where your response should be. Your hand in mine goes slack, and you pull it away from me, rubbing your palms together.

"Will you be back?"

"Eventually."

"When?"

"I haven't decided yet. Arthur said he'd give me a recommendation when I come back. I have some cases I should tie up at the office, a few open files that still need my recommendations. I should look into selling the house, I do have a few friends out west that need to be informed about… all of this."

"When, Alex?"

"Six months to a year."

More silence, then tears.


	39. Leaving You

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Leaving You**

_Olivia_

When they release you on Sunday Hammond appears with a sedan to take us back to the hotel. We have to gather your things so you'll have something to wear at my apartment. Now that his job is over, Hammond seems almost reluctant to let go of you. I wonder what he'll do now. Because of Valez he's lost two partners, been displaced for 2 years from his daughter, and I assume a wife somewhere. He gave up almost as much as we did, maybe more. I'm quiet on the drive, but you ask the questions I don't.

"What are your plans now Jack?"

"Not sure. I have a meeting with my supervisor tomorrow, I assume I'll get my new assignment."

"More witness duty?"

"No. This was a… special case. Besides, I'd like a chance to spend some time with my daughter. Evidently she has a new girlfriend she wants me to meet."

"That's wonderful."

"And there are tapes of her graduation to watch, her mother to calm down."

You chuckle. "I assume she wasn't thrilled about this guard duty?"

"Not really. I hope you'll forgive me if I don't try to introduce you someday… you'd have to go back in the program."

Now I laugh. "Agent Hammond…"

"Jack."

"Jack. I know we've had our… differences. But I want to thank you."

"For what?"

"For watching over my girlfriend when I couldn't."

"It was an honor Detective."

As he leaves us at my door, luggage stashed inside, you lean to give him a hug. "Tell Jason I said thank you all right? Will any of the team be in Oregon when I get back?"

"Stasik and Johnson both live in the area, but the rest are New York or Washington based."

"Tell them I appreciate them putting up with me will you?"

"Of course counselor. Take care."

"Bye Jack."

You follow me into the apartment, leaning against the door as you close it behind you. I brace myself above you with a hand on the door next to your head. I lean in to kiss you, finding this sudden alone-ness after the last few days particularly delicious. I finally have you back. I push thoughts of Wednesday from my mind. Right now, there's only us.

_Alex_

As your lips find mine, I feel my heart start to pound, but not in the dangerous, frightening way it did on Friday. I'm familiar with this beating, the response to your touch. There's something overly gentle about you though, and I can tell that beneath your desire you're still worried about me.

"Liv, I won't break."

"The doctor said to stay calm."

"And a kiss is going to make me not calm?"

"It is if I do it right."

"It'll be fine Olivia. Trust me."

"How do you know?"

"Because I asked." Surprise flashes across your eyes. "I wanted to know so I asked the doctor."

"And?"

"And if you don't kiss me again right this second, you're going to be in serious trouble."

This time your lips on mine are solid, determined. Your tongue presses into my mouth, searching for mine, claiming your territory. I respond in kind, wrapping my arms around you, pulling our bodies together against the door at my back. I moan into your mouth, I've missed this. Has it really only been 4 days since we did this? Thursday night was sweet, and it was nice, falling innocently to sleep together, both of us too nervous to think about desire.

I feel like I'm discovering you all over again, every touch feels new, every taste unique, unparalleled. You use your hand behind me to propel us from the door, stumbling and kissing our way back to your bedroom, shedding our clothes in a trail behind us. Every kiss we break to shed a layer returns with breath-taking force, tongue meeting tongue, lips to lips. We break contact and I feel your lips on the line of my jaw, trailing down the curve of my neck, the warmth of your breath on my collarbone.

"Oh god, Liv."

You come back to me, eating the words from my lips, propelling us into the bedroom as I gain hold of the waist of your jeans. I fumble with your zipper and as I feel it slide lower, I don't wait for your pants to fall, running my hand between your skin and panties, sliding it inside and down, wanting to feel your body's response to me. Your slickness kicks my hormones into gear and I begin to grab as hungrily at your mouth as you did at mine. I pull my hand away and use it to pull at the waist of your panties and jeans, feeling your hips wiggle to get free even as you grab for my button and zipper. I mimic your little hula, feeling my jeans fall to the floor, pooled with yours. As you tug on my underwear, you push me down onto the bed, peeling them from my body, then crawling back up my skin, your hands sliding up my body, from my foot to my thigh, pausing to briefly explore the results of your advances between my legs. You don't stop though, drawing your hands up my sides, around the outer edges of my breasts, then taking my head and pulling me back to your lips as I wrap my arms back around your nakedness, feeling the smooth coolness of your darker skin in my hands. I cling to you, letting your kisses take their effect on my body before I realize I can't take it anymore.

"Livvy…" I breathe against your lips, watching your eyes take on a familiar depth before you break contact completely, turning your attention to my swollen nipples, one hand drifting down between my legs, my back arching at your touch. My breath catches in my throat, and you stop, looking up at me… fearful

_Olivia_

I hear your breath catch in your throat and I stop, looking at you. I know you've said the doctor gave us this permission, but I wouldn't put it past you to make it up. Your body shudders, shifting to try and find my touch again.

"You're sure?"

You're response is breathless, desperate, "Livvy don't stop. Please don't stop. I'm fine, I just… I just need to feel you."

You groan, and as much as the sound makes me wild, I still pause,

"Olivia, if you don't continue by the time I count to three I'm going to shoot you with your own gun. Try to explain that to Cragen."

For a minute I think you're bluffing.

"One…" I dip my head back to your breast; dangle my hand back between your legs, still not entirely convinced,

"Two…"

Your three is lost in a satisfied moan as I make contact again, bringing my hand down on your skin, tracing your lips and folds with a finger, beginning to push past you, letting just the barest tip of my finger dip inside you as my tongue plays games with your nipple.

I feel you clinging to me, then hear you whispering and I continue playing with your sex as I bring my body back up so I can hear you.

"I need to taste you."

_Alex_

The look in your eyes is electric as I whisper my desire for you. You readjust your body so that I'm staring at the delicate space that belongs just to me, and I feel your mouth make its first contact with the space that belongs to you and I put my hands on your butt, drawing you down to my lips. For a minute I tease you with my breath, drawing a finger lightly down your slit, but when I feel you moaning against me I give in, using my tongue to part you, pushing inside you, feeling you react to me as I suckle at your moisture.

You're the only woman I've ever been with, and I just can't imagine that anyone would taste as sweet as you. Sometimes I swear there is cinnamon inside of you, a spice on my tongue that I'll never get used to, never get enough of.

Hours later, our arms wrapped limply around each other I can still smell you on me, still find traces of your sweetness on my lips, can still feel you clenching against my tongue and fingers as you release yourself to me. Moments later, I released myself to you, and now we're both exhausted, lying satisfied together, occasionally tasting ourselves again on each other's lips in lazy kisses. My resolve to go back is waning, and I shake my head, trying to talk myself back into doing what I need to do. Leaving you is never easy, but lying in your arms makes it that much harder and I'm glad that Wednesday is still a few days away.


	40. Out

**Chapter Forty: Out**

_Olivia_

I wake up early Monday morning, calling in to tell Don I switched shifts with Fin so I can sleep late with you and then go to my meeting with Julie and her mom. I start the coffee maker and then crawl back under the covers that I have to steal away from you as usual. I snuggle up against your body, telling myself to enjoy this while it lasts. Last night was intoxicating, and even though I still worry about your health, it was such a delicious sensation making love to you. Sometimes, I swear you taste like strawberries. You know you're not my first, but I wonder if you know that no one else ever came near to what I feel about you, emotionally or physically.

The sight of you smiling in your sleep causes a grin to creep across my face, and I lean in to kiss the almost dimple on your cheek. I can smell the coffee now, and I know that any second you'll be waking up, drawn out of sleep by that scent. I think you'll probably kill me when you realize that it's decaf, but I'm not taking any chances. The doctor said yesterday that too much caffeine could have an affect on you as much as the stress and even if you pitch a royal fit I'm not buying any more regular coffee. I can't control what you drink when you go back to Oregon, but for now… I'm going to take care of you, just like I said.

Oregon. It's just so far away. The opposite side of the country. You've said you're coming back this time. Six months to a year. But I'm worried that you'll get settled there. That you'll get comfortable without me. A year is a long time. It's better than two years, or forever, but still. After all of this I wonder if I can let you go for that long. And what happens when you come home? You mentioned something yesterday about trying to find your own loft. I'd assumed you'd just move in with me, here. Where you belong.

I can see you stirring next to me, your nostrils flaring to the smell of fresh coffee. You turn towards me and blink sleepily at me, your smile growing wider at the sight of me. I can't help but think I could get used to this, that I want to get used to waking up beside you every day until I die.

As your eyes swim into focus, staring deep into mine, I lean comfortably on my pillow facing you.

"Good morning love."

_Alex_

I could get used to this. Waking up next to you again. We've done this before, true… but back then we were playing house, tiptoeing around all of our anger and arguments, trying to force something to work that wasn't. This time is different, natural.

"Good morning love."

"mmmmmm." I'm still too sleepy to speak, so I tilt my head up in invitation for a kiss. As you pull back from that kiss you tell me there's coffee and move away to get me a cup. I breathe in the delicious scent of fresh brewed coffee, loving the familiarity of this moment. You bring me my coffee carefully, taking special care not to spill on your still naked body. I'm not sure if it's the sight of you naked or my first taste of coffee that's more intoxicating.

I take a sip and screw up my face. "Decaf?"

You look vaguely nervous. "Doctor's orders."

"What doctor?"

"The ER doc."

"How do you know?

"I asked."

"Sneaky." I take another sip, getting used to the idea of coffee without help. I guess I could get used to it. I can always switch back to regular when I get back to Oregon.

"Thinking about Wednesday?" How the hell do you do that? It's creepy having a girlfriend who can read my mind.

I nod. "Trying not to."

"Well don't then. I had a proposition for you?"

"Ooooo an indecent one I hope."

"Actually no… Stop pouting Alex, we have plenty of time for the indecent variety"

"Well what then?"

"I'm meeting with Julie and her mother today for lunch, and then we're going over to Sophie's parents to talk to her mom. I was wondering if maybe you'd come along if you felt up to it."

"Do you think they'd want me there?"

"I want you there. Besides, I have the feeling that the more support Julie has the better. Sophie's parents weren't exactly… well informed. I'm a little afraid they're going to take it out on the girlfriend."

I know you're thinking of my own mother, taking out her anger on you. We both knew it was coming, although her timing could have been better. "Livvy if you want me there I will be. When do you have to be at work?"

"Told Don I'd be in at two. Fin came in on his day off to cover my morning. He could use the overtime and he gets a kick out of the idea of me being off of work to 'hang with my girl.'"

"Heh. Fin. So does everyone know now?"

"Mostly. When you passed out in the courtroom, Casey called Elliot, who told Don, who filled in Munch and Fin. I don't think the interns know, but pretty much everyone else does."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Well George…"

"C'mon Liv, seriously."

_Olivia_

Ugh. I don't want to talk about this right now.

"I don't know Alex. I've been afraid of this my whole life. Even when we were together I wasn't ready to admit that I'm gay. I was so jealous of you, I still am."

"Of me? What on earth for! Were you **listening** to my mother yesterday?"

"Yes but that's exactly it Alex. A month after we started really dating you'd told your mother, and we both knew that she wouldn't approve. You had the courage to tell her even when you knew it wouldn't end well. I was pretty sure Elliot would be ok with this and I didn't have the guts to tell him until you were coming back. And even then it was because I was desperate to share the burden of waiting.

"It's a strange feeling, not needing to hide this anymore. Being with you all these years, off and on and off and on again as it's been, you were the first person that really made me feel like… like there wasn't something wrong with me. I spent so many years trying to prove to everyone that I was something I'm not that it's going to take a little getting used to."

"But you're glad right? I mean… look at your friends, our friends. Not one of them seems even remotely uncomfortable, or upset by this."

"Well, Elliot didn't take to it **right** away, but I get the point."

"I really want you to be ok with this Livvy. It's important."

"I'm trying. Maybe this thing with Julie and her mom and Mrs. Patterson will help. Her mom was so amazing. You should have seen the way she talked about those girls." I can't help tearing up, and I wonder when my hormones will stop raging again so that I can stop crying at the drop of a hat.

"Livvy it's ok. My mom is… well she's a Cabot. I'd love to go with you today. And maybe together we can make this end better for them than it did for us."

_Alex_

I was surprised at first, when you asked me to come along. In the back of my mind I still can't get used to not working a case with you, and I'm a little nervous about this. I realize the case is over, but still. And talking to you about being out is a little… tense. It's not something you like to discuss. I had a feeling it might be your last holdout. I'm glad to see that despite your reservations you can still be open with me about it.

"Are you sure you want to leave?"

It takes me a minute to realize we've switched subjects.

"Liv."

"You can't tell me you don't like this." You gesture to the bed, to us… to my coffee.

"That's not the point Olivia. I need time to re-adjust."

"In Oregon?"

"In Oregon."

"But you're going to come back?"

"Yes."

"Within a year?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Olivia I swear I'll be back. I'm not leaving you again. Not for good."

You hold my gaze for a few minutes, then nod, satisfied, and I can tell that you finally believe me.

"C'mon detective, we don't want to be late to lunch."


	41. Mrs Patterson

**Chapter Forty-one: Mrs. Patterson**

_Olivia_

Lunch with Julie and her mother is surprisingly delightful. I can tell that Julie still isn't sleeping well, but she seems relieved that the trial is finally underway. Her mother isn't quite as stiff as I'd expected her to be, and in fact has a rather raucous sense of humor. She certainly made you laugh, talking about Julie and Sophie trying to get away with things right under her nose. The maid catching them in the pantry was a particularly funny story, and soon we're all laughing.

"So, Miss Cabot? What is it that you do?"

"Well, I used to be an attorney, but right now I'm sort of… in between life choices." You squeeze my hand on the tabletop, and for once I don't feel the rush of panic at the discussion of your future… our future.

"Cabot. That name seems so familiar. Are you related to… Juliana Cabot?"

I can feel you sigh next to me.

"Yes, that's my mother. You know her?"

"Only in the vaguest social sense. She's a regular attendee at most of the functions I go to."

You nod politely, but I can tell you'd rather we changed the subject.

"She must be so proud, having a daughter who's dating a detective such as Ms. Benson."

"Mrs. Cabot has raised a lovely, charming, and intelligent daughter, who wouldn't be proud." I can't help myself, even though she's not here I feel like I need to defend you.

Julie's mother smiles, and her daughter changes the subject.

"I'm so grateful to you Detective, to both of you. Sophie's mother isn't quite as accepting as mine, and I want to be the one to tell her about us before she hears it on the news, or during the trial."

"I'm glad we could help Julie. I have to admit I've felt my share of… guilt about Sophie's case. I wish I could have done more for her, for both of you."

"If it makes you feel any better, she didn't talk to me about it either. All of the testimony I gave you was what I observed. Sophie refused to talk about the rape. I think she wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. Afterwards, she…. she wouldn't even let me touch her."

Julie casts a sidelong glance at her mother, trying to gauge her comfort level with the direction of our conversation.

"We hadn't been.. intimate since it happened. Then the night before she… the before we…. the night before I found her, she suddenly wanted me to touch her again. She seemed desperate to … to have some kind of physical relationship. Although now I'm not sure why. I keep wondering if maybe it was my fault. Maybe agreeing to … to make love to her pushed her over the edge."

I see Mrs. Naysom reach her arm around her daughter's shoulder, reaching to pull her close, comforting her. I don't have to look at your face to know you're watching them closely, wishing your own mother had reacted this way. I squeeze your hand again as the waiter brings our check, and Mrs. Naysom reaches to pay for the meal.

_Alex_

It's hard for me, watching Julie with her mother. I can see why the girl reminds you of me. Although we look nothing alike, there's a certain air about her that brings to mind the way I was raised. And with her blond, over-coiffed hair and regal manner, her mother could be a blood member of the Cabot clan. The fact that she knows my mother, even peripherally brings a bad taste to my mouth, but you squeeze my hand before I have a chance to stick my foot in it. I'm jealous of the Naysom's, of their closeness. Her mother is clearly of the same ilk as mine and yet she doesn't seem to mind her daughter's nature the way that mine does.

I'm impressed at how well Julie seems to be handling herself in this tragedy. She actually reminds me a lot of you. Listening to her talk about making love to Sophie the night before her suicide almost makes me cry. You told me that you had a hard time not seeing my face in her, and your face in Sophie, but to be honest I can see the reverse. I've never seen Sophie, but in Julie's eyes I see much of your stoicism. She has the look of you in her, the look I saw above me, trying to push the blood back into my shoulder.

We climb into the Naysom's large sedan to travel across town to the Patterson home, Mrs. Naysom and her daughter in the front, you and I together in the back, holding tightly to each other's hands. I can tell that you're nervous, but they probably can't. We're about to confront your worst nightmare. I know you often wonder what your mother would have thought of us. Someday maybe you'll tell me about it. Even I understand that some things truly are too painful to talk about.

The Patterson home is small, almost subtle. It looks out of place here, like someone stuck a Colorado cottage in the middle of New York City. A cross adorns the space above the doorbell, and in the door is carved "And in your hearts, make a living place for the Lord."

I guess you weren't kidding about them being religious. The Naysom's take the lead, ringing the bell and standing slightly aside so that the four of us fit on the stoop. When the door opens, I'm surprised to see an impossibly round woman with a shock of gray curls that peek from the cover of the handkerchief on her head. You'd mentioned that Sophie was plump, but I'm at a loss to see where this woman begins and ends. It's not that she's … fat, it's more that her body curves in a way that seem almost to make her blend into the space behind her.

"Mrs. Patterson, hi. You remember my mother Josephine? And the detective who worked on Sophie's case?"

"Detective." Ruth Patterson turns her gaze to me,

"I'm Alex Cabot." It's a struggle not to add Assistant District Attorney. This could take some getting used to. "I'm a friend of Olivia's. Detective Benson's."

She nods, but makes no move to invite us in.

"Ruth, could we… come in for a minute. We need to talk to you about Sophie." Josephine takes over the conversation, trying to steer us inside the house.

"Sophie is dead."

"Please Mrs. Patterson?" Julie's voice is pleading, and I notice tears welling up in her eyes.

"Mrs. Patterson, it would really be best if we talk inside." I smile widely, trying to reassure her that we're here as friends.

_Olivia_

Mrs. Patterson ushers us reluctantly into an overstuffed living room. The inside of her home seems to mimic her roundness, and everywhere you look there is a chair or sofa or rug that seems to be too full. On the walls are religious prints, on the bookshelf theological texts, and several different versions of the Bible.

I'm not sure if it's the décor or Mrs. Patterson herself, but the room feels impossibly close despite it's size. I don't hear the hum of a heater, but the house feels warm. She is an odd woman, and I'm starting to understand Sophie's reluctance to come out in this atmosphere. I can't help wondering what the father is like. The room falls silent, and I can feel you squeeze my hand. I guess it's my job to start.

"Mrs. Patterson, as you know your daughter was … attacked shortly before her death. We tried very hard to convince her to press charges but she declined."

"She told us she was mugged. And that that she didn't feel confident about providing an accurate description. She didn't want to send the wrong man to jail."

Riiiight. "Mrs. Patterson…" Julie saves me

"Mrs. Patterson, Sophie wasn't mugged. She was attacked and raped. She… she saved me, pushed me out of the way, made me hide. If she hadn't…"

Ruth doesn't look moved. She stares at my hand in yours, and I wonder what she's thinking.

"Ruth, none of us wanted you to find out this way." Josephine takes over. "I've been trying to convince the girls to tell you for quite some time. Even before this… attack. I want you to know how much we loved Sophie. She was like part of the family. We loved her almost as much as Julie does."

At the word love and its implications, Ruth's eyes go cold, and she turns to stare at Josephine. "Don't you dare defame my daughter's name."

"Ruth… please."

"My daughter was not a pervert."

I can feel you tense next to me. I squeeze your hand again.

"Mrs. Patterson, Sophie wasn't a pervert. She was gay. We… were gay. I loved her." Julie's tears spill over, and I can see her trying to restrain herself. Anger and pain mix together in her eyes, and Josephine moves to settle a calming hand on her knee.

Ruth gets up from her chair and moves to the bookcase, looking for something.

_Alex_

I feel you squeeze my hand, knowing that I'm thinking of mother. The two woman are from different worlds, but they may as well be reading from the same script. I watch Ruth cross to the bookcase, and search for something. I can't help the desire to pull Julie into my arms, wanting to shield her from whatever is coming. Her mother senses it too, and rests her hand on her daughter's quivering knee.

Ruth finds the book she's been looking for and opens it to a well-read section.

"Leviticus eighteen, verse twenty-two: 'Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind: it is abomination.' Leviticus twenty verse thirteen: 'If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death. Their blood shall be upon them'. First Corinthians chapter six, verse nine and ten: 'Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind'…"

Ruth continues, not bothering to flip the pages of her Bible to find verses… I suspect she knows every reference by heart, and I realize that she knew all along what her daughter was. The look in her eyes is angry, but underneath I can see such an incredible depth of pain. This is the face of a woman who wanted desperately to love the child she was given, and found herself unable. Growing up in church I too am familiar with the those chapters, well read in those verses. I believed them myself for a while. Julie looks shattered, seated in a chair across from me, her back impossibly straight and stiff. She doesn't try to fight her tears anymore, but stifles the sobs that threaten to rack her shoulders.

"Mrs. Patterson, Ruth… I know that you don't know me, but I think you need to know that what Sophie felt wasn't wrong. The Bible, in all its wisdom is just a book. The men that wrote that book didn't have the final word. Julie didn't choose to be the way she was, and I'm willing to bet Sophie didn't either. I know that I certainly didn't choose it. But I wouldn't trade Olivia for any man in the world."

I'm at her side now, standing with her at the bookcase. As I reach to touch her arm she flinches. I touch her anyway. I look to you, and you nod, encouraging this tactic. I almost cry myself at the proud look on your face. I usher Ruth back to the chair where Julie sits crying.

"Ruth, this young woman loved your daughter. And your daughter loved her. So much that she put her own life in danger to protect her from something most people never recover from. I know that you must be devastated, by all of this. Finding out this way, the attack, the rape… Sophie's suicide. But look at Julie, Ruth. Look at the way she cries for your daughter. If that's wrong… if that's wrong…" I can't help the catch of my breath in my throat, and feel you at my side in an instant, pulling me into a chair. I try to tell you I'm fine, but I know this weekend is still in the front of your mind. You kneel in front of me, hand on my heart, and I can't help feeling ridiculous at the level of your concern.

"Liv… I'm fine." You search my eyes and pull your chair back closer to mine, I'm just pleased you don't try to sit me in your lap. I look up as you sit, watching Ruth as she watches us. I wonder if anything has made an impact. She turns back to Julie, watching her cry, focusing on Josephine's hand resting on her daughter's knee. She steps away, almost out of the room staring at a framed print that hangs just to the left of the entrance of the living room.

"I knew." She turns from the picture of Jesus with a group of smiling children and returns to her perch on the sofa. Julie seems to stiffen even more, if it's possible, and turns to stare at the last link she has to a woman she loved.

"Sophie never told me but I knew. When you girls were in high school, I was glad she had a friend outside this house. Her father's rules can be… oppressive. I don't think I realized what was going on until you were freshmen in college. You came home with her one weekend and I asked her why you weren't staying with your own family. She said it was because you liked being here with her.

"I knew noone would rather live here with Joshua, with his rules, with his religion. Sometimes I wonder if he didn't have a trick that let him get under your skin before you could see he was there. I never believed anything before I met him, and then suddenly I was using his beliefs to… to condemn our daughter. And then one night I heard you, in her room. Laughing. I cracked open the door and watched the two of you. You were lying in her bed, reading together. Some silly religious book Joshua bought when she was a baby. Her head was resting on your arm, and I saw the way she was looking at you, staring at you the way I used to stare at Joshua. Why couldn't she just tell me?"

I watch Ruth's resolve crumbling, tears building in her eyes, then dripping unnoticed down her cheeks. Julie moves to the sofa, sitting next to her should-be mother-in-law. "She was afraid to tell you. We both were. I tried, tried to get her to tell you a hundred times. But Sophie… you have to admit you and her dad didn't make it easy. All this religion, all this rhetoric. She was surrounded by messages that said you wouldn't love her if you knew. She was desperate for you to love her. I think the reason we spent more time here than at my home was because she couldn't stand to watch me with mom. She just… wanted to know you loved her."

Ruth breaks down completely, reaching for Julie's hand. I notice for the first time what looks like an engagement ring, and Sophie's mother brings the young woman's hand to her heart. "Her father will never understand. He couldn't possibly. Years ago, I tried to leave, to take Sophie with me and go away. She was just a child then. Her father found out and dragged us to the Parish. His priest kept us there for two weeks, taking turns with other parishioners, praying for my soul, praying to heal the devil in me that wanted to leave my husband. I didn't try to leave again. We didn't have anywhere else to go anyway.

"It took me awhile, to get used to the idea of the two of you. I kept hoping she would come to me, talk to me so I could tell her it was all right."

"We were… going to Canada, in a year. To get married. Sophie proposed a few months ago. I kept trying to make her tell you. She almost did. The weekend before…"

Ruth nods. "I would have given you girls my blessing, all of my blessings."

She sobs again, still clinging to Julie's hand, her thumb on the last thing her daughter bought. Between her tears she leans closer to Julie and whispers something not meant for us to hear.

"You will always be a part of my family. Thank you for loving my daughter."

You tug at my hand, and quietly, we excuse ourselves, using your cell phone to call a cab when we get outside. Our part in this thing is done, and it's up to them to build their family back again. Somehow I don't think it will be a problem now.

In the cab, I wipe tears from your eyes and tell you I love you, it's the only thing I can think to say after this afternoon, and I send you off to work, already wishing you were here at the apartment with me instead.


	42. Every New Beginning

**Chapter Forty-Two: Every new Beginning**

_Olivia_

Wednesday arrives too quickly here. When the alarm blares at us at 4am it takes me a while to remember why I've set it so early. The sight of your packed bags in the doorway of the bedroom reminds me, and I turn to watch you waking up for one last time before you go.

Seeing your eyes watching me, already open, I wonder how long you've been awake.

"Are you ready?"

"No."

"You don't have to go."

You shake your head, and we both know now that you do. It's been a hard thing for me to accept, this need you feel to go back. I think I understand it now, but I still don't like the idea of letting you go away from me again.

"I need to shower before we leave, and I still have to pack up my toiletries and such." You start to roll away from me but I grab you, not ready to let go of you yet.

"Livvy…"

"Just a few more minutes Lexi. I promise not to pounce, I just… want to soak you in for a bit."

You don't bother to resist, and I think you need these last few minutes as much as I do. It'll be probably a year before we have another. I spend my time memorizing you, committing every curve, every dip and bend to memory. I breathe in the scent of your hair, the feel of the skin on your neck, behind your knee, on your elbows. I memorize the way your long fingers feel in mine, the lines in your palm. When the alarm goes off a second time I reluctantly let you go, choosing to forgo the shower, knowing I'd only make us late.

The sight of you stepping from the steam in a towel stops my dressing, and I watch you cross the bedroom to the clothes you laid out last night. I watch you dress, adoring the way the shadows cup your perfect backside, the delicate line of your spine. There is something incredibly artistic about your body, and it makes me think perhaps this God of yours is a sculptor.

Thinking of God reminds me of Sophie, and Ruth, and Julie and Josephine. Julie called yesterday to tell us that Ruth was leaving her husband, and that she would be staying with the Naysoms until she got back on her feet. I'm happy she has them to rely on now. It won't change the loss of Sophie, but at least she will still be able to be connected to her in a most precious way.

I stop my reverie when you throw me my jeans,

"Hurry love, I don't want to miss my flight."

I grab your arm as you pass back to the bathroom, and pull you into a kiss.

You return to pack your final things, and I dress and move to the kitchen to pour some orange juice, then peek out the curtains to see our taxi waiting. Elliot and I volunteered to pull an early shift, since I had to be up anyway, El volunteered to chauffer us one more time to the airport, then take me straight to the station for work. I move to unlock the door as he steps outside the door.

"Anybody awake in there?"

"Come on in Elliot!"

"You girls ready?"

You step from the bedroom and steal a sip of my orange juice.

"As ready as we'll ever be."

_Alex_

Sitting in my seat as the plane taxis into Portland International I can still feel your tears on my cheeks. You didn't try to talk me out of this at the last minute, and I'm grateful. At the security line I might have bowed to your request. I could feel my resolve weakening every step I took away from you.

Hammond has taken care of everything though, and I find Stasik waiting with my car outside the door of baggage claim.

"Hey! I didn't expect to see you here."

"Jack wanted to make sure you got home ok before we finished packing up."

"Thanks."

"How was it?"

"Good, bad… ugly."

Stasik laughs, pulling into traffic and heading towards my home.

"And your girlfriend?"

"Still there. Waiting for me."

"Jack says you're staying here for awhile yet."

"Need some time to adjust to being alive again. I'll tell people about the name change, explain a little. I should finish up some work at the office before I just abandon them. And it will give time for the news to spread in New York."

Stasik nods, and we ride the rest of the way home in silence. I use the quiet to remember you at the airport, Elliot standing to the side after giving me an awkward hug and pat on the back.

"A year right?"

"A year. And then I'll come back."

I could see you trying to believe me. "Livvy, I swear to you."

"When you get back, we'll find a bigger place, make room for anything you want to bring with you."

"I still want to get my own place again Olivia. That hasn't changed. We need to do this slowly for a change."

"We'll talk about it when you get back."

I can't help sighing at your hopefulness.

"We'll talk when I get back."

"I love you Lexi." You're dead serious now, staring me down.

I nod, "I know. I love you too."

"Call me when you get in?"

"I swear."

"One year?

"One year."

Your kiss was full of longing, regretful. I tried to make mine gentle in response, calming. But I can't help letting your regret infect me to a certain degree. I leave you with a line from one of your favorite songs, "Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end. This is just our crossover Livvy. Time for something new"

Stasik pulls the car into the driveway and opens the door for me, helping me take my bags into the house before giving me a quick hug goodbye. He promises to tell the team thank you for me, and I turn to look at my home after I close the door behind him, not sure what to do here without someone watching me.

I spend my time unpacking, and find your leather jacket in my bag, and curse you knowing that you kept mine for yourself. You're such a goofball. When I'm done unpacking I head to the store for some groceries, trying to pass the time until I know you're done with work.

A few hours later my clock strikes six and I pick up the phone. You answer at the first ring,

"Benson. And this better be really damn good."

Have I ever told you I love the sound of your voice?


End file.
